Captive
by Rosemonster
Summary: AU Emison. What if Alison had been -A? Emily Fields finds herself in a difficult position after "A" has finally been caught and awaits trial. But Ali won't go down that easy. She maintains her innocence, forcing Emily to take drastic measures. Soon, they're both on the run, and not just from the police. A new killer is on the hunt with an equally vicious thirst for revenge.
1. Chapter 1

**Prologue:** After Emily catches Alison DiLaurentis, finally unmasking her as "A", Alison is on trial for a slew of charges (conspiracy to murder, accessory to murder, fraud, etc.) However, Ali maintains her innocence, and the public couldn't be more in love with her. Alison's defense team shifts the blame to none other than the former hero and captor herself: Emily Fields. Will Emily do something drastic to clear her name?

 **A/N:** Hi everyone! This story occurs directly after the last PLL book, Vicious. In that book, Emily catches Alison DiLaurentis, who had framed Emily, Aria, Hanna, and Spencer for her death, which she faked, exposing her once and for all as A. Or so we think.

*One change to canon: Alison does not confess, maintaining her innocence, and has not been convicted. If you haven't read the books, feel free to message me any questions. But essentially, you should have everything you need below. You can see this as a "serial killer Ali" or "Ali-as-A" AU fic.

* * *

It was late November and bitter cold just outside of Rosewood, Pennsylvania. Temperatures had dropped below freezing the previous night, creating a thick layer of ice over the windshields of every car in a lonesome, dingy motel parking lot.

It was early morning, and Emily Fields glared at the ice, still bleary eyed, gripping her keys hard in her hand. She didn't have an ice pick because the car was a rental, and the only other items in her hotel room were a ratty backpack, half-eaten packages of takeout, and an empty bottle of vodka. In fact, she hadn't packed _anything_ in preparation for the Northeast winter. She was lucky she'd even remembered to bring a jacket.

With an exasperated clench of her jaw, she got into the car and kicked the defrosters into high gear. She rubbed her hands together for warmth, hoping that the ice would melt soon because, otherwise, she wouldn't have time to get a coffee before the evidentiary hearing.

But as she waited, the possibility of a quick escape looked bleaker and bleaker. The ice remained as thick and resolute as it did five minutes before, and Emily thought about how she even got here, how she'd never wanted to experience the Pennsylvania cold again. That was the whole point of moving to California, wasn't it? Sunny days, ambient weather, perfect road conditions? And yet here she was under a gray, sunless sky, her fingers and nose tingling with numbness, a shelf of ice obscuring her view of her shitty motel.

This was never what she wanted. She never wanted to come back here.

Six months ago, when she'd picked up and moved, she'd thought she'd finally gotten her wish. She'd thought everything, the pain, the paranoia, the sleepless nights, she'd thought it was all over. She'd felt light, free, unencumbered, filled with possibility. And she had been. For a little while at least.

Over the next two months, she'd settled into Los Angeles nicely. She'd made money giving surf and swim lessons, even picked up bartending for extra cash. She was even beginning to embrace the beach bum life. Hang loose, right?

People even recognized her sometimes. They shook her hand, stood too closely to her and yelled, "You're the girl that caught that psychopath, right?!" She'd wince and nod and then they'd buy her drinks she didn't need, but she drank anyway. She'd even met a girl, Laura. Nothing serious, but it was more than she'd ever been able to have before. Before Alison DiLaurentis.

She'd thought this would be her "A.D." time. Or her "A.A.D" time. Her life After Alison DiLaurentis.

But she'd been stupid to think it would last. That Alison wouldn't find a way to turn everyone and everything against her again.

It was about three months in when she started seeing a new tone in the papers.

" _Alison DiLaurentis maintains innocence!"_

" _Alison DiLaurentis claims Pretty Little Liars maimed and tortured her!"_

And that was only the beginning. The tides shifted on Emily, and Alison DiLaurentis went from infamous murderer to helpless victim. Strangers began staring at her, peering accusingly over the edges of their expensive lattes. Her bartending tips dried up, and her manager said he didn't have shifts for her. No one wanted surf lessons, no, not from _Emily Fields_.

" _Hero, Emily Fields, may not be hero after all!"_

Those articles and a thousand more just like them would swim behind Emily's eyes at night. She would wake at 2 and 3 AM, clawing at the air, covered in sweat, convinced Alison was standing over her bed. She would see that photo of Alison, the one plastered all over the internet, that showed her penetrating blue eyes, her dancing smile, her pink, shriveled left cheek. The scar, it was a blemish on an otherwise picture perfect facade. It begged the question, how could this happen to such a beautiful girl? It made you think, no! That's not the face of a murderer!

Emily wanted to rip it into a thousand pieces. She wanted to watch it burn.

The worst articles were the ones that implied that Emily had been in love with Alison. Somehow, every news outlet in the country had obtained that video of her shouting, "I'll never love you! Never, ever! And I will kill you!"

They called her obsessed. They'd said Alison's rejection of her drove her crazy. They weren't totally wrong.

She _had_ been crazy, but not because Ali rejected her. In fact, quite the opposite. Emily had refused to tell Alison she'd loved her, and Alison had murdered her girlfriend outright. Emily could still remember screaming those words, her voice breaking. She'd meant it. She was going to kill her. She could still feel the splinters in her hands as she tore apart the house, the deep cuts across her knuckles. Two girls she loved, dead, gone, because of Alison DiLaurentis. Emily wondered if she would ever be free.

" _Emily Fields won't take interviews!"_

" _Emily Fields, a drunk? A recluse? A liar?"_

Emily couldn't handle it. Her tenuous grasp on her new life slipped. She'd gotten rid of her phone. She'd moved to an outlying city. She'd started taking self-defense lessons, she studied up on how to be untraceable. She was convinced people were following her, that nowhere, no one was safe. She drank more, and she became obsessed with Ali's case.

Emily didn't know how long this lasted. Weeks turned into months. And months turned into the onset of Ali's trial proceedings, beginning with her evidentiary hearing back in Rosewood. She packed a bag (no ice pick), jumped on a flight, and now she was here, watching the ice thaw.

Emily had never thought she would be here. She had never thought Alison DiLaurentis could get off for murdering her twin sister and Emily's best friend, for murdering Emily's girlfriend, for torturing her and her friends for months, years, and yet… here Alison was, defying the entire world. Per usual.

An hour later, Emily was coffee-less and belligerent, her courtroom seat feeling hard and unyielding beneath her. Like a church pew. Or a bus stop. She'd crept into the far back row and slipped a pair of dark sunglasses over face. There would be reporters here, and she did _not_ need their questions.

" _Emily, why did you say you'd never love Alison?"_

" _Emily, why did you kidnap Alison?"_

" _Emily, were you jealous of Nick Maxwell?"_

Emily pressed her hand to her temple, willing the voices to stop, begging for silence.

"This court is now in session," the judge commanded from the front of the room, causing Emily to jerk her head up. Both the district attorney and Alison's lawyer stood, and she watched them warily.

Today, Alison's lawyer wore a black, pinstriped suit. The collar of his shirt was white and stiff, his tie impeccably silky. He was some sort of big shot from New York. The type that smiled widely at the camera, teeth large and white. He liked to hold his hands wide open and invitingly while he would say, _"There's absolutely no case against my client."_

His client, Emily tried to ignore, tried not to look at the slender form next to him. Regardless, she could see her in her periphery. She could see that Alison's hair looked long and silky, curling just at the shoulders. She wore a blue blouse, a tiny dot of color in the corner of Emily's vision, the hue that Emily knew would bring out her eyes. Alison was staring straight ahead, probably maintaining a look of doleful innocence, a fabrication Emily knew she'd perfected over the years.

"The floor is yours, Mr. Gellar," the judge continued, hunched over in his chair. "Present the evidence you've gathered against Mrs. DiLaurentis for the charges of accessory to murder, conspiracy to murder, and fraud."

Emily breathed deeply, trying to maintain her focus. She stared at the defense attorney who in turn peered over at the district attorney with an air of arrogance and disdain.

"I'm curious to hear what Mr. Gellar has prepared when there's absolutely no evidence against my client," he said, a virtual carbon copy of the images Emily had seen of him on TV.

"Mr. Mercer," the judge warned with a harassed roll of his eyes.

"That's an insulting understatement, your honor," the prosecution barked back. "There is the testimony of the four young women involved, and—"

"Four young girls who are all reasonably well known as 'pretty little liars,'" the defense shot back with mocking air quotes. "It's absurd to say their accounts can be trusted more than my client's. She has been nothing but a model inmate the last six months—"

"Alison DiLaurentis is alleged to be extremely manipulative—" Mr. Gellar, the district attorney, said in an attempt to regain footing.

"Slander," the defense interjected with a cocky shake of his head.

"And there's the letter she wrote that proves it. She confesses, she even brags about a number of murders, including that of her sister—"

"Nick Maxwell confessed to writing that letter on the stand," the defense attorney cut in again, "under oath."

Both sides traded statements with such alacrity that Emily's head shot back and forth between them, making her neck ache. She wondered if either the defense or the prosecution planned to allow the other to get full sentence out without interrupting.

" _And_ the diary Mrs. DiLaurentis wrote," the prosecution weathered on with a sharp glance at the defense. "In it, she claims to have known and been accessory to multiple criminal acts, working as an accomplice to Nick Maxwell."

"Which Nick Maxwell _also_ admitted to coercing her to commit," Mr. Mercer countered, throwing his hands up as if this whole thing were a comedy, a mockery to the justice system.

"And while we're on the subject of this diary," he continued, throwing a hip out. "In Fisher vs United States, the court held that the Fifth Amendment protects the production of personal documents when the act results in incriminating testimonial communication. My client can't incriminate herself through her own diary."

"That's one example, your honor," the prosecuting DA said with an overly dramatic sigh. "There are at least a dozen other instances where courts ruled that the Fifth Amendment provides no protection for the contents of personal documents."

The judge levelled each of them with an assessing gaze.

"I'm going to have to agree with Mr. Gellar here," he said after a moment. "The diary can stay."

Emily let out a relieved sigh.

"However," he continued. Emily held her breath again. "I'm not sure I can move forward with merely testimony and a diary alone. You have no further evidence?"

The district attorney looked red and splotchy, his bottom lip stuck out. The defense attorney smiled smugly in return.

"There's no eye witnesses, there's no proof of communication between Nick Maxwell and Mrs. DiLaurentis," Ali's attorney stated. "There's no DNA, blood, or even video."

The district attorney appeared to be at a loss of words.

"The sad thing is," he continued, sounding indignant, self-righteous. "All of the evidence is in favor of Mrs. DiLaurentis' diary. So much that the prosecution proved in a completely separate trial, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Alison was captured and nearly murdered at the hands of the very same group of girls who are blaming her now."

"Even the very 'hero' of this elaborate, made-up saga," he added with condemning glance backwards, looking into the courtroom crowd, "swore on video that she would kill my client in the same location where the torture and blood were found."

Emily froze as his eyes landed on her. She felt his gaze like a thousand watt spotlight.

"This is a person," he said pointing an accusing finger at her, "who has every motive to want to hurt Alison, and she did."

Emily seethed, staring at his haughty features, his over-confident disposition. What made her angriest, she supposed, was that he wasn't wrong. Emily _had_ wanted to hurt Alison. And, maybe, she still did. Because Alison had tortured her. Because she was a liar. Because she was "A." But the attorney didn't care if what he was saying was true, he just loved the publicity. He loved sitting next to poor Ali D, the beautifully maimed girl who was so misunderstood, so mistreated.

He turned back to the judge, having proven his point, and Emily noticed Alison sit up a little straighter.

"We have the photo of Mrs. DiLaurentis smiling during her alleged imprisonment with Nick Maxwell," Mr. Gellar continued, attempting to reassert himself. "And, to be quite frank your honor, with the arrival of this new killer, we need more time to go through all of Mrs. DiLaurentis' communications."

Emily closed her eyes, clenching her teeth again. That was another thing she didn't like to think about. Over the last few weeks, police had been on the hunt for a killer, a copycat of sorts. One who would stalk and murder young girls, girls like Emily and her friends. It put Emily on edge, her dreams all the more terrifying.

"You've had six months, Alex," the judge responded impatiently.

"But this is a recent development that highly impacts this case," Mr. Gellar argued back with desperation. "They are clearly connected."

But even Emily could tell the prosecution was posturing, that this case was about ten seconds from being thrown out completely.

"That may be true, but you're not getting another three months to waste taxpayer dollars on the thin line of evidence I'm seeing here," the judge countered, confirming Emily's fears.

Her heart sank, she felt her internal temperature rise. This _couldn't, couldn't_ be happening.

Mr. Gellar stammered, but during the diversion, Emily caught a minor movement at the defense table. Ali had turned, her angular profile coming into sharp view. It was like spotting a lion in tall grass. Emily wasn't sure whether to hide or if it was too late. Ali's piercing, crystal-blue eyes swept over the crowd, the dozen or so faces, before settling directly on Emily. Emily felt rooted to the spot, frozen, hypnotized by the intensity of that gaze. But, then, Ali smirked slightly. And winked at her.

Emily's mouth fell open, had _anyone_ seen that?

"You get a one week recess, that's it," the judge said, emphasizing his point with the slam of his gavel. Alison was already turned back towards her desk, watching her lawyer collect his things.

Emily felt hot tears begin to rise, threaten her vision. She shot up from the uncomfortable bench, rushing down the aisle. She pushed open the courtroom doors, feeling like she'd been punched, feeling dizzy, like she'd just entered some sort of alternate hellscape.

Emily cringed outside the courtroom, doubled over. She tried to collect herself. It was happening again. The sweats, the pounding heart, the dizziness. It felt like her whole body was clenching, constricting, like it was trying to choke the very life out of her.

Ali would get off. And then the media would say Emily was the copycat killer. But she knew, she just _knew_ , that Ali was to blame. That this was because of her minions, her "Ali-cats."

Emily couldn't go through that again. She would snap, break. Alison just _couldn't_ get away with this. She couldn't get away with _everything_. No. Not again. Not this time.

"—Dilaurentis?"

Emily heard the name somewhere behind her, over her own heavy breathing, over the blood rushing in her ears. She glanced back to see two cops standing near a side door, thumbs tucked into their belt loops.

"You got stuck with that today?" the other replied with a joking half smile as Emily lifted herself up, resting her hand on the wall for support.

"Yeah," the other sighed, kicking at invisible lint on the floor. "I hate going into that burn clinic. I hate seeing the little kids, you know?"

"Well, at least you have DiLaurentis to look at, right?" the other teased back, making Emily's stomach curdle.

But she thought quickly.

Alison was going to the burn clinic? Emily had read Ali had been treated for her burns, but she didn't know it was still happening. And she was going today?

There was only one burn clinic in town, and Emily had volunteered at it multiple times growing up. She knew that place inside and out. She could get in, she thought, a hazy plan taking shape in her mind. She could get Alison alone. And she could shut her up once and for all.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Hi all, thank you so much for the reviews! I was feeling insecure about this story, but your feedback really helped. Please let me know what you think about this chapter! We finally see and meet Alison as A.

* * *

Getting into the burn clinic was both easier and harder than Emily would've thought. Easy because, while watching from the parking lot, she could tell their security practices were roughly the same as before. However, it was harder when every minute she sat in her car thinking about what she was about to do, she could feel her nerves straining, becoming taut, making her want to throw up.

What was Alison going to say? What would she look like? What if she screamed?

Emily had absolutely no idea what she'd be walking into, but she kept telling herself it was worth the risk. Alison DiLaurentis was going to get out of jail, and she had to do _something_.

Steeling herself, she left the clinic and stopped briefly at the local Wal-Mart, grabbing a pair of pink scrubs she knew they always assigned to the children's ward. While Ali wasn't a child, that's likely where they'd treat her. When Emily had volunteered before, she'd only done a few shifts with the kids, but it had been some of the most rewarding and heartbreaking of her experiences. She hated that she was using the purity of that knowledge now to commit a crime, but she didn't have a choice.

Trying not to think about it, she moved to the office supply aisle, collecting plastic tags, card inserts, and sharpies, anything she could use to make some sort of makeshift badge. Then, she paid for everything with cash, stuffed it all into her purse, and made her way back.

When she pulled into the clinic parking lot, Emily chose a spot close to the front, so that she could watch visitors and employees come and go. While she worked diligently to create her fake badge, she kept her window slightly ajar, even though it was still absolutely frigid, hoping to catch snippets of any cell phone or group conversation she could use. Luckily, she was shortly rewarded with two.

"—can't make it today for her shift, we need to call down the list of volunteers for back ups," from a younger man in blue scrubs.

And, "—I don't know. Look, I don't have time to talk about this. His teacher is coming by to visit later, Thomas loves her," from a haggard looking woman in a beige blouse. She slammed her door when she got into her car.

Emily could use that. She could pretend to be a visitor, then change in a bathroom, and pretend to be a volunteer. That's how she could get into Ali's room. She walked through it in her mind three, four times, finishing her badge, when a flash of white caught her attention.

Emily's dark brown eyes flashed up, focusing on a large, unmarked van entering the lot. She held her breath, following it as it pulled in about four spots over. Emily wasn't totally sure what she felt when she saw it. Or what to feel at all.

That was Ali's transport van, right? Or what if it was just a random van? What if she was wrong, and this wasn't even the right burn clinic?

A thousand more anxious thoughts rushed through Emily's mind, but her anxiety quickly dissipated, burning away like clouds on a hot day. Because when two police officers jumped out, she recognized one from the courthouse, and she knew.

This was Ali.

She leaned her chair slightly back, ducking low, as the other cop loudly slid open the side door. She didn't want them to see her, she didn't want _her_ to see her.

God, what if Ali _did_ see her? Would she point Emily out to the police? Or, worse, would she do that terrible smirk again, that wink?

Emily was even closer to Alison now than she'd been in the courtroom, and it made her feel like she was standing on the edge of a cliff, looking down. She felt like she was trying to fight a fate that was already sealed. Like it was too late, and the abyss would swallow her whole.

But as she struggled to breathe, her heart racing, Alison was suddenly there, seemingly materialized directly out of Emily's mind. She rounded the front of the van, her curled hair shiny in the white overcast light, radiantly blonde against her orange jumpsuit. She was cuffed, but she held her wrists delicately, as if she were fragile, slight, and dainty.

 _No,_ Emily thought. This girl was _not_ brittle. Like her burn scars suggested, Alison DiLaurentis had been forged from fire, and now she was cold, hard steel.

Emily scowled slightly, wishing the rest of the world could see what she saw. But Emily didn't have much time to ruminate in her anger, the officers were already shuffling Alison inside the clinic, looking disengaged, bored even. Emily took a huge breath, held it.

This was it. Time to face the music.

Fortunately, the front nurse Marsha didn't recognize her, and Emily had gotten in to see "Thomas." She noted that one of the policemen had remained in the front foyer, staring out of the window blankly. Emily stored that information, making her way into the nearest bathroom, changing into the pink scrubs, her hands shaking as she peeled her clothes off. When she was dressed, she stared at her reflection in the mirror, gripping the edge of the sink until her knuckles were white.

Looking at herself, she looked haunted and gaunt. Dark. A ghost of what she'd been, a spirit who belonged neither here nor there. She tried to remember she wasn't the girl that got bullied, stalked, harassed, hurt by Alison. She tried to remember her self-defense lessons, what it felt like to have power, to be in control again.

"You can do this," she whispered to herself. "You're not afraid of her."

She pushed herself off the sink and returned to the hallway. She tried to look composed, like she belonged there, but, in reality, she was sweating in places she didn't know existed. She felt acid bubble threateningly in her stomach.

Ignoring it, she glanced down the hall and saw a nurse holding a clipboard, about to round the corner towards Ali's room. Emily stepped in front of her, stopping her. The woman almost collided with her.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry," she said apologetically, trying to sound reasonably unsure, like a volunteer would. She glanced down at the woman's tag, 'Sarah Ramsay.' "I'm the new volunteer, Heather. Marsha at the front told me she's going to take over Alison DiLaurentis today. I'm going to wait for her in the room."

The lady gave her an assessing look but then heaved a relieved sigh.

"Oh good," she said. "DiLaurentis is a tough one. It always makes me sad to look at those burns on such a pretty face."

Emily had to repress her annoyance. Alison didn't deserve pity.

"Will you give this to Marsha?" the nurse asked, holding out the clip board.

"Of course," Emily replied, taking it.

Emily watched her walk away, thinking, one down, one to go. The cop was next. The one at Ali's door.

She'd seen Ali's room on her way in, it was easy to spot since it was the only one with an officer waiting outside. She could see him now as she made her way down the hall, staring disinterestedly at his shoes. She passed a tray of medical supplies and, last second, grabbed one of the face masks, hanging it around her neck. At least it might partially obscure her face.

"Hello," she said, approaching him. "I'm Heather Murphy, I'm a new nurse to the clinic. Nurse Ramsay had to step out, but she'll be joining us shortly."

She reached out to shake his hand, hoping it didn't feel cold and clammy. He took it with a hesitant smile.

"Hi Heather," he said. "You taking her back?"

Emily paused for a moment. Take her back? Where?

"Yes," she replied, trying to sound confident.

In her periphery, Emily could see movement from inside the room. Alison had surely heard and recognized Emily's voice.

"Okay, same drill," the officer waved.

Emily nodded with a tight-lipped smile and, tensing, she turned and entered Alison's room. Ali was sitting up in her bed watching her intently, one arm cuffed to a gurney. She didn't scream, she didn't call out. In fact, Emily could've sworn she was smiling slightly, looking almost happy to see her.

It somehow frightened Emily even more.

Ignoring her shaking hands, Emily unsteadily unlocked the gurney wheels and began wheeling Alison out of the room.

"I know you're new," the officer said again, causing Emily to pause as she passed him. She felt terrified suddenly, but forced herself to turn and look. He motioned towards Alison. "Remember if you need anything, I'll be right here."

"Thanks," Emily nodded, trying not to visibly swallow.

She continued down the hallway, having no idea where to go, listening to the squeaking of wheels on linoleum.

"Down here," Alison said quietly under her breath almost inaudibly. "On the right."

Emily almost couldn't believe she'd heard it. Was Ali trying to help her?

"This one," Ali said again as they neared a large white door. Emily followed her instruction, opening it, carting Alison's gurney in after her. The door shut behind them. Emily couldn't believe she had gotten this far. She turned back to Alison.

"Hi sweetie," Ali said, her blue eyes shining.

It gave Emily pause. It just wasn't what she'd expected her to say.

Emily stared back into those crystalline eyes, her heart hammering in her chest, her breathing catching in her throat. She felt dizzy, derailed.

It had been a _long_ time since she'd stood face to face with her tormentor. In fact, the last time she'd been within reaching distance of Alison DiLaurentis, she'd been on top of her, fingers wrapped tightly around her throat. Emily had almost strangled her to death. She'd been so close to killing her. Instead, she'd leaned down, near to Ali's ear, and whispered, _"You don't deserve to die. I'm going to make you rot in jail the rest of your life."_

 _"This isn't over,"_ Alison had hissed back later, spit flying from her mouth as the cops hauled her into a police car. _"We're not even close to being done."_

And she'd been right.

But Alison didn't look like that girl now, the girl the police had pried off a chain-link fence. The girl who'd been overweight, her hair mousy brown, her features small, tight and furious. Now she looked thin, relaxed, her hair shiny and flaxen even in the harsh hospital lighting. She almost looked like the "perfect" Alison DiLaurentis Emily had grown up with, the Alison DiLaurentis who'd slept over at her house, who Emily had so intimately known.

Almost.

If not for the wrinkled scar on her left cheek, Emily might've been fooled. She was grateful for it, in a way. It marred Alison's perfectly sculpted façade and reminded Emily that she was not the calm, pure, beautiful girl she pretended to be.

As if sensing Emily's thoughts, Ali smirked slightly, her eyes twinkling. She took her turn assessing Emily, glossing over the scrubs, the latex gloves, the doctor's mask hanging around Emily's neck. Alison adjusted herself slightly, her cuff clinking on the banister.

"This is certainly a new look on you," she said in that kittenish, raspy voice of hers. "A disguise? I like."

"Not according to your defense team, it isn't," Emily snapped, managing to find her bearings, referencing the fact that Ali's team had painted her as a liar, a schemer, and potentially even a copycat killer.

"Oh, don't be so insulted," Alison said casually, tilting her head back, exposing the shiny burn scars that continued down her neck. "They're just doing their jobs."

Emily could feel a familiar instability, her anger spike. Like gas sitting too near an open flame.

She took hold of the metal banister on Alison's gurney, leaning over her. Ali's eyes warily flicked up to her, watching Emily like a dangerous animal.

"I know you're telling them to write that stuff about me in the media," Emily growled in a low voice. "You need to stop. You need to come clean."

As Ali listened, a fire ignited in her icy blue eyes. It was a glimpse of the girl who'd tortured Emily for years, who had tried to poison her, who had tried to drown her.

" _Say you still love me,"_ Ali had said.

Emily still heard that voice in the worst of her nightmares.

"Lift your shirt up," the current Alison DiLaurentis said instead.

Emily's eyebrows knotted, her face turning downwards into a frown.

"What?"

"You heard me," Ali repeated, her voice still sweet, but with an underlying harsh, hard edge. "I want to see if you're wired."

Emily clenched her jaw, but complied with Alison's request. She uncomfortably lifted her shirt. Even though she knew Alison was restrained, it still felt like the equivalent of offering her neck to a velociraptor.

Ali watched, her eyes sliding over Emily's exposed, bare stomach, a look of approval and amusement on her face. Emily rolled her eyes, dropping her shirt.

"Now—" Emily started.

"Turn off your phone," Ali commanded again, interrupting her.

"We don't have time for this," Emily argued, attempting to regain control.

"I said turn it off," Ali repeated, her eyes fiery, her voice sharp. "Do you want me to call for help?"

With a frustrated sigh, Emily took out her phone, swiping it closed, and holding it up so Ali could see. Looking satisfied, Alison leaned back in her bed.

"I'm not going to do that, Emily," she replied smoothly. "I'll win my case."

"Look, I'm not the same girl I was when you first started all this. I'm not sweet, naïve Emily. If you don't stop…." Emily started, but she couldn't quite finish.

"What?" Ali said challengingly, with a mocking curl of her lip. "You'll do what?"

"I'll stop you."

Ali shot Emily a derisive look, her eyes dancing, her dimples showing. She arched her eyebrow, and it looked slightly different than before the fire. It looked more upturned, a silvery scar touching the edge of it.

"Are you going to kill me?" she asked in a measured, though still condescending tone.

"Maybe," Emily answered coolly. "And don't say I couldn't do it."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that," Ali replied, inclining her head back, her fingers grazing the soft flesh of her neck.

"I remember you squeezing so hard I couldn't breathe, Em," she said in that hypnotic voice of hers. "I felt the blood swelling, the vessels breaking. I could see the bruises from your hands for days."

Emily clenched her jaw hard at the memory.

"Is that who you've become?" she continued. "A killer, Killer?"

Emily shuddered at the use of her nickname.

"It's who you've made me," she replied through gritted teeth.

Alison smiled, somewhat wanly, pulling her fingers away from her neck.

"Don't kill me, Em," she said with a total lack of fear, even a trace of boredom. "I know who the copycat killer is."

Emily grumbled loudly with frustration. "Yeah, right."

"I could help you catch them," she suggested teasingly, a twinkle back in her eye. "We could clear your name."

"We?" Emily scoffed. " _You_ could clear my name right _now_ by telling the truth."

"But that doesn't help me," Ali replied calmly. "Meds and treatments and doctors and muzzles, I'll be locked up forever."

Emily only glowered down at her. "That's what you deserve."

"Well, life isn't fair, is it, honey?" Ali said back, her voice sounding hard again. "Why would I want to lose when we could both win?"

"We both win?" Emily denounced rudely. "You think I'd fall for that? Sounds a little too good to be true, especially coming from you."

Alison tsk'd at her.

"So bold," she said sneeringly. "So brazen now. Remember when you were sweet? Remember when you kissed me?"

Emily glared at Alison as she touched a finger to her lips. "In the bathroom, against the wall. In your bed—"

"Shut up," Emily snarled, cutting her off.

"I think I liked that Emily better," she said with a lilt.

"That's funny," Emily contradicted. "Because you tried to kill _that_ Emily and then called her a loser."

Ali merely shrugged. Like Emily had accused her of leaving the milk out.

"All I'm saying is," she continued. "You get me out of here, and you can go back to being the hero again."

Emily didn't say anything at first, processing her words.

"You always _loved_ being the hero," Ali added, infuriatingly.

"You knew I'd come here," Emily asked accusingly. "Didn't you?"

Alison maintained that same insufferable smirk on her heart-shaped face.

"I'm not sad about it, I must confess. I have missed you," she said, reaching to touch Emily's finger with her cuffed hand. Emily quickly recoiled, and Alison visibly bristled.

"You really should let me help you," Alison threatened, her voice less musical. "That feeling you've had lately, the one that says someone is always watching you? It's right."

Emily froze, feeling unnerved. How did Ali know? But then, she thought, of course she knew. This was "A."

"I have followers who talk to me, and they're not your fans," she said, clicking her tongue again. "Something bad is going to happen to you, Em, and there's nothing I can do for you stuck in a jail cell."

"You really think I'm going to break you out of _jail_ , Alison?" Emily questioned her disbelievingly. "Do you know how that would look?"

"The way I see it," Ali countered through bared teeth. "Is that crazy killer Emily Fields tried to kill poor, little Alison DiLaurentis at her own burn clinic today. That's how it looks _right_ _now._ "

Emily gripped the metal banister again, her eyes burning into Alison. But Ali's eyes relaxed, became soft again.

"Don't you want to change that?" she said sweetly.

Of course Emily did, but she didn't want to admit it.

"Even if I did," Emily said. "How the _hell_ would I get you out of here?"

"Call in a bomb threat," Ali answered easily.

The look on Ali's face, her general disposition, reminded Emily of the voice she used to hear on the worst of days. It was Alison's and it said, _you're totally mine_.

 **What did you all think? Will Emily break Ali out to find the real killer? Or is Ali merely setting her up?**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Hi everyone, thanks for reading and reviewing! I know our fandom is a bit dead right now, so we're all the dedicated few. I'd love to hear what you'd like to see or where you want things to go. I'm really enjoying writing as Alison as A/serial killer Ali, so tell me what you think!

* * *

Emily hung up her phone, her hands trembling. She'd never called in a bomb threat before. Hell, she'd never even pulled a fire alarm as a prank. The nurse she'd been speaking to sounded rattled when Emily had used her first name, when she'd given her specifics of the building layout. Emily had felt a flash of guilt, an inkling of foreboding. But it was too late now. It was done, and it couldn't be undone.

"Now what, genius?" she said, turning to Alison, slipping the burner phone into her pocket. She was feeling a distinct need to displace the blame on someone other than herself.

"Well," Alison said, her eyebrow quirking as she shifted her sharp, blue gaze. "You're going to have to take care of this," she finished, rattling her wrist loudly against the gurney rail.

Emily glanced uncertainly at the polished handcuffs. Did she really _want_ Alison unbound and free to do whatever she wanted? Would Ali attack her?

"And how am I supposed to do that?" she replied cagily.

"How do you think, genius?" Ali responded, mirroring Emily's previous jab. She said it so smoothly, in that same condescending, mean girl tone that Emily had known so well from her sister, that she almost shivered.

"Well, we'd need a key," Emily said, stating the obvious.

Ali blinked at her slowly, as if Emily was the dumbest person she'd ever met. Then, Emily realized what she was getting at.

"You expect me to take it off that cop?" she asked, her voice pitching in disbelief.

"You know, Em," Ali said with a tilt of her head. "Sometimes you have to get your hands dirty."

Emily clenched her jaw, staring darkly at Alison. She knew the blonde was challenging her. She knew she shouldn't do a damn thing Ali said. This was her adversary, her nemesis, her opponent. A person who had taken so much from her. A person Emily knew potentially more intimately than she knew herself. And vice versa. It had been so long since she had lived a life without some form of Alison DiLaurentis in it. Could she really keep letting her dictate the terms of her free will?

But before Emily could answer that question, the door to the room swung open. Emily immediately went rigid, a jolt of fear shooting straight through her like an electric current.

"Hi ladies," the police officer from earlier greeted, stepping into the room as a bead of nervous sweat formed on Emily's temple. "It looks like there's some sort of threat right now, so we'll need to end the session early today."

"Is everything okay?" Alison asked sweetly.

Emily almost snorted. It was ironic, given she had just directed Emily to hurt him. Her "good girl" act was so believable, so consummate, and Emily hated it. At the same time, though, it was difficult not to respect.

"Yes, we just need to get you back to the jail," he explained calmly. He turned to Emily. "We'll have to reschedule for tomorrow."

Emily nodded curtly as the officer approached Ali's gurney. He reached to his shoulder, pressing his mouth towards his radio.

"Bravo-124, changing location to entrance for pick up," he said as they began to wheel the gurney towards the door.

"B124 received," the radio chimed back at him.

Emily looked at Alison again, gritting her teeth, feeling absolutely taut with fear. Alison jerked her head at the cop, silently telling Emily to get on the fucking move.

But she couldn't be serious? Emily couldn't attack, couldn't take down a cop. Sure, she'd had _some_ training over the last couple of months, but this guy had years of training. Even if she had a weapon… but what if she killed him?

Emily took a deep breath, her eyes flickering to the officer's holstered gun. Could she make a grab for it? No, there was no way he wouldn't get to it first. Emily wasn't even totally sure she could use it, even. And the whole building would hear a gun shot.

They were nearing the door, the cop was reaching for the handle. Time was running out.

 _Make a decision_ , she thought frantically. _Fuck!_ She just needed a few more seconds to _think_.

Emily glanced to her left, spotting a medical tray with several silvery instruments sitting on top. She hit it casually with the back of her hand, and it went flying, clattering all over the floor. The officer turned back to look, removing his hand from the door handle, but unfortunately resting it just on top of his gun.

"Oh my God," Emily said in a partially real, flustered tone. "I'm so sorry, I've been so clumsy today."

He nodded, and bent over in front of her, picking up the small utensils and tools. Her eyes flicked to the other side of his utility belt, landing on the hilt of something made with bright, yellow plastic.

It was a taser.

Bingo.

Emily took a breath, standing, suddenly feeling like she was moving in slow-motion, like she was in a film without sound. He was crouched, turned away from her, his head a few inches from the door. She pressed her palm to the back of his head and pushed, as hard as she could. The force carried the police officer forward, and his head made a loud, painful sounding crack with the wood.

Maybe he'd yelled, maybe he hadn't made any noise, Emily wasn't sure. Her adrenaline was too high. All she could see was his thumb flicking open the catch on his gun holster, his face turning, as she worked feverishly to unholster his taser.

 _His gun_ , Emily thought in a flash. _He's going for his GUN._

The taser came loose. She turned it on him, aimed, and fired.

The prongs flew in what felt like one hundred different directions, hitting him squarely under the neck, in the chest, and close to his belt. The officer began to shake violently, Emily did not let up on the trigger.

When it was clear he was sufficiently demobilized, she dropped the taser with a clatter and shakily moved behind him. She felt outside herself as she methodically pulled him into a choke hold.

It didn't take long as Emily squeezed. Maybe thirty seconds. When he was unconscious, she released him and breathed for what felt like the first time in her life.

"You cut that one pretty close," she heard Alison say, but it felt far away. "For a second there, I thought you froze. Why didn't you go for the gun?"

Emily closed her eyes, rubbing her face. She didn't answer, ignoring her. She looked at her hands and then back at the cop. She did that. She'd attacked a police officer. Now _that_ was something that couldn't be undone. This guy would recognize her forever. But maybe some day he would understand, she thought. Albeit even she was unconvinced.

Emily sighed, she just needed to keep going. She needed to stay on task. So, she removed the radio from his shoulder and quickly found the cuff keys. She also took his pepper spray, pocketing it. She returned to Alison, fitting the key neatly into the cuff lock. Alison merely stared at her, an unreadable expression on her face, as the lock clicked.

Emily went to remove the cuff, but Alison reached with her free hand, moving it under Emily's, doing it herself. As their hands brushed against one another, Emily felt her skin, soft as it had always been, slightly cool. Before she could pull away though, Alison was standing from the gurney, inches from her face.

"Thanks," she said, a trace of a smile on her lips. Her eyes were stark and deep, the way Emily might imagine water in the Antarctic. The type that pooled at the bottom of one of those mile long cracks in the ice shelf.

With Alison this close, Emily couldn't help but remember the last time they had kissed, against the wall in a vacant Rosewood High bathroom. The wall tiles had been square, bright, and white like the ones in this room. Ali had touched her nose and said, _"I'm sorry, too."_ It had all been a lie, an act, of course, but in that moment, it had been as real as anything to Emily.

Ali glanced down at Emily's lips, as if she knew what she was thinking, and smirked again. Then, she dropped down to the floor in front of her. Emily was confused at first before she realized what Alison was doing.

"No," Emily stated plainly.

Ali looked back up at her, as if she were a child that both could not and would not be admonished. She continued to pull at the holster, removing the gun from the officer's belt.

Emily quickly leaned over, grabbing her arm.

"Hey—" Ali protested as Emily took both wrists, yanking her back upwards.

"I said no," Emily repeated. "I'm not killing anyone."

A tense few seconds passed as Ali glared at her in defiance.

"Fine," Ali hissed in a whisper, a puff of breath hitting Emily's face. It smelled minty. "No need to get so worked up, Em."

"I'm not," Emily gritted back at her, becoming suddenly uncomfortable with their proximity, releasing her. Ali looked annoyed.

"At least get his wallet," she said irritably, rubbing her wrists.

Emily shook her head, reaching down and searching for the wallet. She found it in his back pocket.

"Give me the cuffs," she ordered Alison.

Ali hung them in front of her face, and Emily snatched them from her. She dragged the officer towards the medical cabinets and cuffed him to the cabinet handle. She made sure the radio was far from reach.

"Do you have clothes for me?" Alison asked expectantly. "I can't exactly walk out of here in this."

Emily opened her mouth to say no but then remembered she _did_ actually have another set of clothes, the set she had initially walked inside wearing. But she'd discarded them in the bathroom.

"I have to go get them," Emily stated quickly. "Don't do anything to him while I'm gone."

Ali nodded amicably, and Emily quickly left to get the clothes, praying to God that they were still there. When she returned, everything still looked as it did, and Alison gingerly glanced up at Emily as she started to remove her jump suit.

"Not going to turn your back?" she asked in a teasing tone.

"Turn my back on you, Alison?" Emily responded mockingly. "Not again, no."

Ali shrugged, maintaining eye contact with Emily, and stripped her clothes down to her bra and underwear. Emily couldn't bear it, she didn't like the way it made her feel, confused and scared and angry all at the same time, so she averted her gaze. However, she could still see Ali smelling her shirt in her periphery.

"Mmm, smells like you, sweetie," Ali said enticingly before putting it on.

Emily ignored the flirtation, she knew Ali was only trying to get under her skin. She'd always especially liked toying with Emily, maybe because it was more painful for Emily than the other girls. And there was nothing Alison liked more than Emily in pain.

Narrowing her eyes, Emily turned back to the blonde as Ali pulled the hood up on her jacket, hiding her tumbling blonde hair.

Ali motioned to the outside. "Are we doing this or what?"

Emily bit back an angry reply, she wanted to point out how 'we' weren't doing anything. But instead she moved in front of Ali brusquely, cracking the door open. She waited for a group to pass, and they left with the crowd, blending in behind them.

They didn't say a word as they made their way toward the exit hall. Emily felt incredibly tense, a muscle in her neck straining painfully. Everything felt heightened, extra colorful, twice as loud. She spotted the other cop scanning the crowd, mumbling something inaudibly into his radio. She also saw Marsha, the woman at the front, talking with the nurse Emily had tricked, looking confused.

"We need to get out of here," Emily muttered, reaching for Ali's wrist.

She not so softly dragged Ali towards the exit, and they passed through the front doors, back out into the frigid, bitter cold. Emily wished she could take Ali's jacket, since it was actually hers.

There were several people milling about outside, blowing cold puffs of air out of their mouths, looking anxious after being evacuated from the building. It was fortuitous for Emily and Alison, though, as it gave them plenty of cover.

"Where's your car?" Ali asked in a whisper.

Emily pointed to it a few spaces away.

"You parked in the front?" she hissed accusingly. "Everyone is going to see us leave."

Emily could only glare back at her. "I didn't know I'd be smuggling out a felon when I got here."

"Not yet," Ali snapped back. "Innocent until proven guilty, Em."

Emily opened her mouth to respond, but Ali suddenly turned on her heel.

"Where are you going?" Emily barked under her breath, but Ali was clearly headed towards her transportation van.

"Just cover me," she whispered angrily back at Emily.

So, Emily stood in front of her as she lingered briefly in front of each tire, leaving a trail of puncture and hissing noises behind her. Curious, Emily turned to see her using a scalpel to slice open the last of the van tires.

"Where did you get that?" Emily asked, but suddenly she already knew. The medical tray she'd spilled all over the floor.

Ali pocketed the scalpel before Emily could try to take it from her and motioned her head towards Emily's car.

"Let's go."

Emily let the subject drop, reminding herself _not_ to forget Ali had that scalpel, and they crossed behind the van, moving back to Emily's car. As they both got inside, Emily switched the engine on, but she saw a flicker of movement by the doors.

The cop from the entry hall emerged and immediately spotted them.

"Oh my God, he just saw us," Emily shouted.

"Of course he fucking saw you, you parked in the front," Ali said back in disdainful judgment.

Emily didn't have time to retort as she threw the car into reverse and peeled out of the spot. She watched the cop pull his weapon, but she was already speeding out of the lot.

"What do we do?" she asked desperately, the car speed climbing with every passing second.

Alison merely pinched the bridge of her nose, as if Emily had royally screwed everything up.

"Well, they're going to set a perimeter," she spoke with annoyance. "They've probably already called in a physical description of you and this car as well as the direction of travel. So, they'll definitely block the roads."

"There's nothing we can do?"

"We can hide, but they'll find us. We can't get out of town because there's only one highway in Rosewood. So, we're pretty much fucked, Emily."

Emily didn't like the sound of that. She didn't like the idea that they were trapped. There had to be another way.

"Because you parked in the front," Ali added with a sneer.

Emily shot an angry look at her. "It's not over yet, just put your god damn seat belt on, Alison."

Ali rolled her eyes, but she did it, gripping the door hard as Emily pulled a narrow turn towards the highway.

"Go towards Holland," Ali directed. "They'll expect you to go to the highway. We may be able to go down the back roads until we can get far enough away."

Reluctantly, Emily listened, turning off the road toward Holland.

"Even if we get out of Rosewood, they'll still be looking for my car."

"We're going to have to ditch it," Ali replied easily.

"It's a rental," Emily protested.

"That's your problem?" Ali asked her with wide eyes. "You can pay your late fees after you get out of jail for kidnapping."

Emily tried not to look at her, wishing she could stop for duct tape, so she could shut Alison the hell up. Instead, they cruised towards Holland Street, passing over a long bridge. At the end of the bridge, though, Emily saw the flashes of light. Red, blue, and white.

"Go off the bridge," Alison said quickly.

"What?" Emily cried out in disbelief.

But it was too late, Ali was already lunging for the steering wheel. She got hold of it, jerking it hard to the right.

Before Emily had even realized what was happening, the car skidded fast and slick on the ice. Emily felt the centrifugal force like it was a thousand pounds as she was pulled towards the door, her hands flying from the wheel. There was a loud, ear splitting crash of metal and, then, the worst feeling yet; total weightlessness as the car plunged backwards off the bridge.

 **It's a good thing Emily was a former swimmer! Will she be able to save she and Ali from drowning in an ice cold river?**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** So, I'm dumb and forgot to answer questions I'd seen in the reviews last time. Here you go!

 **Have Emily and Ali already slept together**? Ali and Emily have not slept together before this story started. However, they'd kissed several times while Ali was pretending to be her sister. Also, when Emily discovered Alison's true nature, she still saved her life from certain death. Emily also thought of Ali long after, it's even implied she's still attracted to her. For Alison, after being unmasked as A, she paid Emily specialized attention and was extremely jealous of girls Em showed interest in.

 **Is Ali really evil?** Ali is sociopathic, has murdered several people, and is in fact responsible for all of the crimes that Emily claims her to be. So, in a conventional sense, yes. But Ali's character, at least in this story, is also complicated.

 **Have I read the Sara Shepard Emison fanfic/books?** Of course, and I love them! I'm mad that we have no idea how long the wait is until the third one though…

Let me know if you have any other questions or PM me!

* * *

When the car made contact with the water, Emily's body slammed hard against the seat belt, so hard it felt like a blow to the chest from a heavy weight champion. It completely knocked the air out of her, and there was a panicked moment where she couldn't draw a single breath. She willed her lungs to work, but they were seized, unyielding, like she was a fish out of water.

But as she finally managed to breathe, her first breath like a bubble in her chest that had finally burst, she heard the sound of shattering glass followed by a crunching, rending explosion in the back of the car. As her body heaved and flailed from the force of it, she felt a buffet of sharp, cold air hit the small hairs on her neck. She felt a kind of gravity settle towards her front as if she sat at the top of a see-saw, but then something shifted, slipped, and the car slammed flat against the water with a crash.

Emily saw stars. She heard a loud, rustling whoosh. But all she knew for sure was that she was alive. And conscious. She couldn't quite believe it, but somehow she was both.

Blinking her eyes, which were inexplicably filled with tears, she glanced up through the newly cracked windshield, confused, trying to gain her bearings. As she heaved, straining to just keep breathing, she saw a twisted, gaping hole where the railing had been. The bridge, the one they'd just been on, looked so far away, so high above. A torrent of bright, white flakes of snow began to fall all around them, landing heavily on the hood of the car.

What had happened?

She shook her head, trying to clear the confusion, but it only made her dizzier. She tried to focus on the present, but she couldn't. Emily felt sluggish, shocked. However, there was one thing that registered: her shoes were wet.

She jerked them up, away from the wetness and noticed that there was water, several inches of it, bitingly cold and quickly pooling all around her feet.

"Shit!" she exclaimed, but she was interrupted by a strangled sounding whimper. She looked over, and Alison was there. She was alive and conscious and thrashing around in the swelling water like a hooked sea bass.

For a split second, Emily felt relieved to see that she was okay. But then she remembered Alison yanking the steering wheel and running them off the road, and she was less relieved the crash hadn't killed her.

"What the fuck, Ali?!" she yelled, her voice sounding different, distorted. It was hoarse and terrified and shaking.

But Alison didn't respond, still messing with something frantically in her seat. Emily didn't have time to guess why, though, because she heard that sound again, like a rushing, like a… waterfall.

She snapped her attention backwards and gasped. Several feet of water had risen in the back seat and more continued to cascade in through the blown out back window.

"Ali, water's filling up the car," Emily said in a panic, quickly unbuckling her seat belt. "We're sinking, we have to get out of here."

"Emily," Ali replied quietly, in a strange voice.

Emily froze. Partially because the icy water had risen to the top of her seat, beginning to pour out over her calves, partially from the sound of Alison's voice. She'd never heard her sound like that. Which was saying something since she'd heard almost every incarnation of that voice. She'd heard Ali laugh maniacally, threaten her, soft words, and sharp words. But she'd never heard that kind of fear, that helpless tenor. Like a kitten trapped in a closet.

"I'm stuck," Ali continued, her blue eyes wide, her irises small. "Help me, I can't get out of my seat."

Emily looked down, realizing for the first time why Ali had been pulling at her seat belt. The mechanism must've jammed. Emily took a jagged breath as she reached for it, the water rushing over her legs. It was painfully cold. Not the kind of cold like the hundreds of pools Emily had jumped into in her lifetime, but this… no water had ever been quite like this. It felt like a million daggers stabbing her everywhere at once.

She cried out at the sensation as she pulled at Ali's buckle. Ali tried to help, but her hands already looked faintly blue and were beginning to shake violently. But try as Emily might, nothing moved, nothing budged. They both began breathing heavily, the shock and the pain of the cold river water intensifying as it made its way up to their waists. It felt like a burn, like Emily's entire body was blistering.

"Emily," Ali plead again.

"Just—just hold on," Emily cried back.

She hated to hear Ali sound so afraid, even though this _was_ Alison DiLaurentis, this was "A." Ali had left Emily to die several times and, not only did she not help her, she'd laughed at her. But maybe it was just who Emily was that she just couldn't stand to hear her suffer, especially not someone with the voice of her sister.

"It's not—It's not," Emily started with an intense shudder. "It's not working. I can't get it to-to-to move."

She looked to Alison for help, but for once, Alison didn't seem to have the answers. Instead, her shivering turned worse, her skin a pale shade of ghostly white.

 _We actually might die_ , Emily thought suddenly, her heart hammering in her chest.

But she struggled with the harness anyway, water flowing forward over their seats, splashing her in the eyes with a cold, sharp sting. It reminded her of a flash of something silvery, the pressure blowing out of a tire.

"Where's that scalpel?" Emily exclaimed over the roaring water.

Alison's eyes came alive with recognition, and she pulled something out from beneath her, maybe from a back pocket or her waistband. She immediately set to cutting the belt across her lap. Emily tried to help her as best she could, but she could no longer feel her fingers very well. She could, however, feel the tremor of Ali's hands, so she wrapped hers around them, steadying her cutting.

"Oh fuck," Emily cursed, the water surging to their chins. Though it was inevitable, she did _not_ want to put her head under.

Because it was cold. Colder than cold. She'd fallen through the ice once when she was young, and she'd forgotten the feeling. Like the blood in her veins was coming to a halt, becoming hard. She'd thought it might kill her then, and she thought it might kill her now. The only difference was that her father had pulled her out before. He wasn't going to save her now.

"Ali," Emily begged.

"I'm tr-tr-trying," Ali whimpered back at her.

But they were only half way there. Emily became desperate as the first taste of the river water touched her lips. She pulled as hard as she could at the frayed belt, despite the fact that her fingers refused to work adeptly. They felt useless on her hand, like blunt twigs shaking in a crisp winter breeze.

But finally, finally, finally, it tore. Emily had never felt such relief sweep through her body, she was almost warmed by it. Ali began to wiggle out of the chest strap, and Emily pushed upwards, towards the roof of the car.

"Ta-ta-ta-take a deep breath," Emily told her.

Alison only nodded, filling her cheeks with enough oxygen that Emily could only pray she wouldn't drown before they reached the surface. Her piercing blue eyes were the last thing Emily saw before they both went under.

After that, it was all cold and blackness and pain. Emily had Ali's arm, roughly pulled close, but her clothes were heavy, like chains dragging her down to the depths. With the four windows still up, it felt like they were in a magic act, in one of those giant glass cases. But there were no trick locks or trap doors. They were either going to swim out, or they were going to die.

Emily tried to kick towards the back window, but her limbs felt resistant and not attached to her. She could barely feel her body, like parts her were already frostbitten and rendered useless. But she kept trying. She kicked off on something, a seat or the ceiling, as hard as she could. It propelled she and Alison through the back window, though Emily could only identify it hazily. She looked up, but she could only see the faint shimmer of the surface. She swam as hard as she could towards the light, even though every kick felt like it was costing years of her life.

After what felt like minutes, hours, days, they breached the water's surface. Emily could barely register it at first, her face was too numb. She felt blind, mute, deaf, every part of her paralyzed by the cold. But she did feel a strange sort of propulsion, a strong push. It was hard to tell what was happening, the light too white and blinding, but she knew they were moving. Too fast. Faster than they should be.

As her vision cleared, she realized the current of the river was powerful, moving them downstream like two weightless paper ships. She watched black, slippery rocks pass by, feeling powerless to resist as the snow poured down.

"Alison?" she tried to call out, remembering her suddenly, but it came out weakly.

Was Ali still with her? Did she come up out of the water?

She willed herself to turn her head and realized the blonde was in fact still next to her, holding onto Emily's arms and shoulders. Though Emily couldn't feel it at all.

Seeing her, Emily tried to fight the current, angle them towards the shore. But it felt almost impossible with the weight of her clothes, with the strength of the current, with Ali anchored to her like a life raft. Emily just didn't have the strength left.

So, they floated. She wasn't sure for how long or for how far. She only knew that when she stopped, she was pressed flat against a giant rock, moss under her fingernails, trapped between the shore and the middle of the river. She could feel Alison pulling her hand towards the coast line until finally, her body raked over river rocks, her fingers grasped at earth.

At first, she only lay there. Boneless and breathless. Thick and heavy. The snow flakes continued to fall wet on her nose, but she was too numb to feel them.

"Emily," a voice called to her, but she didn't recognize it. Or maybe she did. But was it the same one?

"Emily," it said again more insistently, and then she felt it moving her, but she refused to comply. She was done. She was dead. Or she was dying.

"You're not giving up," the voice said through chattering teeth, and then Emily recognized it.

Alison DiLaurentis. Her Ali. The Ali she used to skip rocks with, pitching them into the stream by her house. The Ali who used to pick out clothes for her, holding up yellow and pink blouses, telling her how jealous she was of her skin tone. The Ali whose bright blue eyes she saw in her dreams, staring down at her.

Maybe she was dying and she was finally getting to see _that_ Ali again.

But she felt herself lifted to her feet, a weight against her, and Emily was reminded that, no, she was sadly still alive. And reminded again that this wasn't her Ali at all, but _the_ Ali. Real Ali.

"Why do—do you care?" Emily said bitterly, trying to fight her off. But Alison ignored her, dragging her across the forest floor like a dead body she was eager to hide in the woods.

Emily watched the stark, sharp tree branches, grey rocks, and puffy white snow banks pass by. She wanted to turn into herself, find the last remaining vestige of warmth, like the coal at the bottom of what was once a bright, burning fire. But she only felt colder and colder.

"Just leave me alone," she slurred.

"No," the voice barked back at her. But it did push Emily off, causing her to slump onto her back. That seemed more like Alison. The real one. Finally leaving her for the wolves.

But she could hear Ali trudging around somewhere in front of her, Emily craned her head to follow. Instead of Ali, she saw a house. The lights were on. It looked yellow, warm, and inviting. There was a truck parked out front. She heard the sound of breaking glass, then felt Alison pulling at her again, forcing her to stand.

"Move," Alison instructed.

Emily tried harder, but she still felt slack, slow, and lethargic. Ali pushed her through the doorway of the cabin, just a plain studio, and angled her towards a bed. Ali sat her on the edge, but Emily fell backwards onto her back, eyes closing. She wanted to sleep forever.

She listened listlessly as Ali made rustling movements followed by a slick, slapping of something hard and wet hitting the floor. Then, Ali was pulling at Emily's pants and shoes. Emily merely laid there, content to die. But, like usual, Ali was not happy if Emily was getting what she wanted, and she leaned Emily up, peeling the rest of her scrubs off, snapping even her bra from behind her back.

 _Wait, what?_

Emily's eyes fluttered open. Alison jerked at her underwear, too, and they were gone before Emily could find the will to stop her. She also realized that Alison was also naked and dragging the sheets over them, lying on top of Emily.

"No," she protested weakly as Alison laid her head on her chest.

"Do you want to die?" Ali replied in a shiver, wrapping her arms around Emily's torso.

Emily found the question hard to answer. No, she didn't want to die, but more than anything, she didn't want to die alone. So, she wrapped her arms tightly around Ali's back, her skin feeling cool and clammy, and held her.

* * *

" _Are you okay?" a voice asked her. It sounded dreamy and distant, but also silky smooth, like rain water falling._

 _Emily opened her eyes, her vision taking a moment to adjust. There was a girl bending over her, looking concerned._

No, not a girl, _she thought._ The _girl. The_ prettiest _girl._

" _What happened?" Emily mumbled, feeling a sudden wave of nervousness. She did NOT_ _want to look stupid in front of Alison DiLaurentis. Why was she on the ground? Did something embarrassing happen?_

Oh god, _she thought._ Oh god, oh god, oh god.

 _She could feel her palms beginning to sweat._

" _We were about to start the dissection, and you—," Ali started in a mellifluous whisper, a slight waver of her bow-shaped lips. "I think you fainted."_

" _Oh," Emily said, sitting up quickly, but it was too quickly, and she was once more overwhelmed with dizziness and nausea._

 _Ali placed a hand on her forearm, steadying her, but Emily couldn't bring herself to look up into those blue eyes. She didn't want to see the judgment or derision that was so often present there. She also didn't think she could handle their proximity. Alison DiLaurentis… something about her always confused Emily's brain. Like she was looking at one of those trick photos, where if you untrained your eyes enough, you'd see a totally different image._

 _So, instead, she stared at Ali's hand on her arm, felt it like a heavy weight, like a hot poker. She tried not to flinch from it, she didn't want Ali to pull away if she acted weird. But it was also painful for her to endure._

 _Emily didn't get it. Why would she want Ali's touch but also not want it?_

" _I think I should take you to the nurse," Ali suggested in a worried tone. "I tried to stop your fall, but you cut your knee on the corner of the table."_

 _Emily glanced at it, and Ali was right. A bright red line had formed across her knee, blood was already pooling in a long fissure. It didn't look serious, but she would definitely need to clean it and get a bandaid if Coach was going to let her in the pool later._

 _She looked up, nervous at Ali's reaction. She must think Emily was such a klutz. If only she could see her swim, that was the one place Emily felt graceful. But as she looked at the blonde, whose golden ponytail sat limply over a pretty blue scarf on her shoulder, Emily was surprised to find Alison had an odd sort of look on her face. She wasn't disgusted at all, in fact, she looked curious or even strangely enthralled by Emily's blood. Her fingers twitched slightly at Emily's arm, like she might reach out and touch it._

 _A second later, Ali realized she'd been caught staring and quickly schooled her expression._

" _I don't have anything to stop it—" she said a little nervously, Emily wasn't sure why. It wasn't like they were friends, it wasn't like Ali was ever even nice to her. In fact, on the rare occasion she even talked to Emily, she called her mean nicknames. The only reason they were lab partners for this dissection assignment was because the teacher had been punishing Ali for being too talkative in class. Alison had barely tolerated her, too. So, this strange show of kindness was especially confusing._

 _Maybe she was nervous that Emily had seen that funny look? Before Emily could think it through, though, Alison reached down and removed the scarf from around her neck._

" _Here," she offered, holding it out._

 _Emily stared at it. Was she trying to tell her to use_ that _as a bandaid?_

" _No, Alison, I couldn't—" Emily began to resist, but Ali playfully rolled her eyes and pulled Emily up to her feet. She shoved the scarf into her hands._

" _I mean, I don't want it back or anything," she said with her more characteristic sarcasm and a flash her half smile._

 _There was an underlying threat to it, too, like Emily better not try to refuse the scarf again. They were only in sixth grade, but it was clear Alison ruled their middle school, and the last thing Emily needed was for Ali D to go around telling everyone she was a freak._

 _So, she accepted it, and Ali looked pleased. Alison turned away to lead Emily to the nurse, but Emily didn't use the scarf as Ali intended. Instead, she held it close to her chest. It was too precious for something like that._

* * *

Emily roused suddenly, had she been dreaming? She felt confused, but comforted by a warm, feather soft weight against her. Her face was pressed tightly into a smooth, creamy hollow, fitting perfectly in the groove between a sloping neck and shoulder. And it smelled divine, too.

What did that smell remind her of? She'd never smelled it this faintly, but more pungent, more overwhelming. It slipped from her memory like smoke. What was it?

Then, she realized suddenly what it was.

Vanilla.

Alison.

The crash.

The freezing cold.

She quickly retracted her head from Alison's neck, but Ali still clung to her. They were no longer shivering, and Emily felt warm, like a lizard on a pleasant, sunlit rock. It must've worked, whatever Ali had been trying to accomplish when she stripped herself naked and pancaked Emily flat on the bed.

However, now that she was awake, Emily was as acutely aware of Alison's touch, as much as she had been back in sixth grade. Because that _had_ been Real Ali. Not her Ali, not Courtney. And Real Ali's lips were on her collar bone, moving slightly. They parted, feeling wet and full. Emily's arms were unconsciously wrapped tightly around her back still. She hadn't been able to feel it before, but everything, _everything_ was touching.

Emily tried to delicately move out from under her, but Ali made a noise, like a whimper of protest. But it sounded sultry, and when she moved her lower half slightly, it was too sensual, too much.

Emily quickly flipped them over, reversing their positions. Ali's blue eyes lazily flickered open, looking sleepy and disturbed.

"Stop," Emily said sharply before rolling off of her. When she stood above her, Ali's eyes had cleared, and her expression transformed into a mischievous simper.

Emily shot her a withering look, immediately set out to find her clothes. As she looked, she tried to forget the dream that was more of a memory. They'd gotten an A on that dissection assignment. Alison had weirdly loved doing it, loved pulling the bones of the frog apart, cataloguing the organs. It only made Emily queasy, so much that she had to stand four feet away from the table. She remembered the way Alison's eyes had sparked when she'd seen Emily's blood. Even then, she liked seeing Emily in pain.

"You can't put those back on, Em," she said languidly from behind her, still on the bed.

Emily had found her clothes, the scrubs, lying in a wet, cold heap on the floor. She was right, there was no way those were going to dry.

Emily glanced at Ali, whose face was cradled calmly in her palm, hiding her scar. Her hair was still wet, but drying, curlier than Emily had ever seen it. The blankets were thrown down to her hips. Emily struggled not to follow the line of her pale white back with her eyes.

Emily sharply looked away, searching the rest of room instead. For something, for anything.

"Where are we?" she grumbled under her breadth.

"I don't know," Ali said, a rustle of sheets and a creak of the floor indicating she'd gotten up. "Some hunting cabin? There's another set of tire tracks outside."

Emily watched her out of the corner of her eye, not quite able to make eye contact while she was still standing there, completely naked.

"You can look at me, Em," Alison said, sensing and seeming to enjoy her discomfort.

"I'm not going to look," Emily clipped back in response.

"Well, I am."

Emily clenched her jaw, feeling Ali's eyes sweeping over her, from head to toe. Ignoring her, she resumed her search, spotting a suitcase in the corner. Unzipping it, she found several men's shirts, jeans, and socks. She pulled out a large flannel and buttoned it over her chest, happy to finally have a little bit of modesty. But, when she went to get bottoms, there was no way any of the jeans were her size. So, she took a pair of pajamas, hastily sliding them over her legs. They needed to be rolled several times.

"Do you think this is some sort of brokeback mountain hut?" Ali asked derisively.

Emily turned, and Ali had found a suitcase, too, also men's clothes. Emily only raised an eyebrow, collecting her bra and underwear from the pile on the floor, getting a slight chill at the memory of how Alison so easily removed them. She grabbed her shoes last second, too. She'd need those to dry.

"Do you think they're looking for us?" she asked, ready to get out of this house before huge men came back to two fugitives stealing their clothes.

"Probably," Ali answered. "They'll use dogs once they don't find our bodies. We need to go."

Emily's eyes glazed over the kitchen, looking for keys. But, instead, they fell on a half drunk bottle of vodka sitting on the counter. She snatched it and a box of unopened poptarts. She felt like she was starving. But she didn't see keys anywhere.

"Do you think there's keys to that truck outside?"

"Like these?" Ali asked with a jingle of her wrist.

Emily finally looked at her, looked her in the eyes at least. With the keys in her hand, she was similarly dressed in a men's button down and a hoodie. But instead of pajamas, she'd found boxers instead. Patterned ones. With hearts on them. Emily couldn't help but smile slightly, Ali looked utterly ridiculous. But like always, she wore an unmistakable look of grand self-satisfaction, as if everything, in fact, was going exactly according to plan.

 **Where will Emily and Alison go? Will the police catch up with them?**


	5. Chapter 5

" _And, this time, don't even think about touching the steering wheel."_

It was the last thing Emily had said to Alison before starting the truck engine. Ali had put up a fight about who drove, but Emily was uncompromising. No way was she letting Ali behind the wheel after her last stunt. Ali was livid, her eyes bright as burning coals, but she'd shoved the keys into Emily's hands nonetheless. And now after almost fifteen minutes of navigating winding back woods roads, she continued to petulantly ignore Emily. Even when they merged onto a bigger, two lane road, she showed no interest. Not even when they finally chanced across a highway.

Emily paused indecisively at a stop sign, looking left and then right. She had no idea which way to go. She didn't even know what their destination was. She glanced at Ali for input, but her arms were still crossed, her gaze averted. Emily rolled her eyes, sighing heavily, and instinctively decided west. Sure, why not? Towards Philly. All that mattered right now was that they got far enough outside of Rosewood that they wouldn't run into any police blockades.

After another ten minutes of driving, it seemed like they were in the clear. Emily checked the rearview mirror once more and felt like she could finally breathe again, but she winced. Because breathing hurt. Actually, now that she thought about it, every part of her felt hurt and sore; her ribs, her neck, her legs, her chest. Like she'd been beaten by a club and left for dead.

She hazarded another glance at Alison, wondering if she felt the same. If she did, she didn't show it. She merely sat there, still as stone. A porcelain mannequin. But under Emily's scrutiny, the stone cracked and moved. Ali exhaled dramatically and lifted her arms over her head, gathering her hair up into a ponytail. Emily itched to do the same, but she hadn't been able to find her hair tie anywhere. It was almost always snug around her wrist, but she figured she'd lost it in the river. It actually looked just like the one Ali was using. Just like it, actually.

Wait.

"Did you steal my hair tie?" Emily asked accusingly.

Alison shot her a bold look of confirmation as she snapped the band in place. She had an eyebrow slightly raised as if to say, _"yeah, and what're you going to do about it?"_

Emily wanted to force her to give it back, right out of her hair, but as she held Ali's obstinate gaze, she knew the answer to her unspoken question. Emily wasn't going to do _anything_ about it. She didn't want to have another spat with Alison over something stupid. She didn't want to even talk to her at all.

So, she turned her attention back to the road, frowning. She gritted her teeth, guessing… that wasn't totally true. She _did_ want to talk to Ali, she just didn't know what to say. Did she want to demand an explanation for everything Ali had done? Did she want Ali to apologize? Or did she want to know _how_ she'd done it? How she'd designed and orchestrated the worst events of Emily's life?

Even if she asked, Emily had no what Alison would say in return. She'd never spent alone time with her. In fact, she'd always seen the Real Ali in her mind like some sort of cartoon villain. The kind that laughed maniacally at her misfortune, that tapped her fingers together, scheming on how best to torture her next. Like Mr. Burns from the Simpsons or the Wicked Witch of the West.

" _I'll get you, my pretty!"_

Alison had never been a person to Emily, never human. Even when Emily had first read the letter, she'd seen Ali like a dove with a broken wing. Something Emily wanted to fix, something she was convinced others didn't truly understand. She couldn't be evil, she'd thought. She was just a confused version of her Ali, of Courtney.

However after everything with Tabitha and Nick and Jordan, after the threatening face to face encounters she'd had with Alison, she'd transformed and taken new shape. Ali was a killer, a murderer. She was a rabid wolf that needed to be put down, a diseased loner with snapping jaws and yellow eyes. And she had Emily's scent. She lurked just out of the safety the firelight, howling in the middle of the night to remind Emily that she was always there, always watching. Waiting for the day Emily's guard would be down, when she would take hold of her throat and bite down.

But sitting next to her now, able to talk to her, look at her, reach out and touch her, she didn't seem like a witch or a wolf monster. Nor did she look like a broken dove. So, what did that make her?

"You're quiet," Alison observed, brushing her fingers through her ponytail, glancing back at Emily.

Emily hadn't realized she'd been watching her again and quickly looked away, not wanting to give Ali the satisfaction. Instead, she tried to focus on an indistinct point on the road.

A long silence passed and Ali kept watching, kept waiting. Emily closed her eyes in surrender.

"What you want me to say?" she asked.

"Well," Ali began slowly, the word rolling off her tongue in a tone Emily had heard before, the annoyed one, the you're-walking-into-a-trap voice. "You could start by saying thank you."

Emily's eyebrows knitted together, confused. Then, she bristled. Did Alison want a thank you for saving her life?

"I'm not—" she started angrily, but she bit back her words.

She shook her head with frustration, scowling. She honestly didn't know any more. All she knew was that she was still terribly confused. Confused about who Alison was. Confused about the bed, about the boldness of Alison's nakedness, about her near constant teasing. Didn't Alison hate her? Hadn't Alison always hated her, always made fun of her? She could remember Ali's eyes, when they'd been blunt and empty, as she pushed the muzzle of a gun against her temple. But then she could also remember Ali letting her live. And, more recently, the feel of her fingers, curling at the base of her neck, bringing her closer in the bed, her lips painting wet contours across her collar. She could feel her dragging her across the forest to save her life.

But why? What did it mean? Was it just another game? Another elaborate set up?

"I'm not thanking you for anything," Emily finally concluded. "You're the reason we went off that bridge in the first place. You're the reason the police are looking for me. You're always the reason, Alison."

Emily forced her gaze to remain hard as she turned to face Ali's intimidating, icy blue stare. "You ruined my life."

"And you ruined mine," Ali snapped back, her lip curling.

Emily clenched her jaw, thinking of the letter again. Alison had claimed Nick had written it, but Emily knew she was lying. She knew Ali's voice. Only Alison could've spewed all that calculated hate and bile. Emily knew she really did blame her. She knew that killing Courtney hadn't been enough to sate the vacuous hole inside of Alison, that her anger knew no boundaries.

"Then why did you save me?" Emily countered.

Ali heaved another staggering sigh.

"You saved my life," she replied, gesturing briefly to the scar on her face before turning to stare out the window. "It seems only fair. You save me from fire, and I save you from ice."

But it didn't feel fair at all. How could Alison deserve credit for saving her life when she had put Emily's life in peril so many times prior?

"I saved you _twice,_ Alison," Emily corrected her, knowing it would annoy Ali. "You were the one trapped in your seatbelt."

"And you were the one looking into the light on that river bank," Ali spat in response. "Sorry, Em, but you'd be a corpse if it wasn't for me."

"You don't care," Emily replied angrily. "You _want_ me to die."

Alison tilted her head, her expression altering from toxic and teasing to woeful and sincere. It was unusual to witness, like seeing a chameleon change color or an Octopus blend with its environment. Emily sat a bit more stiffly in her seat.

"I don't want you to die, Emily," Ali said in a lingering, somber voice, her eyes as big and innocent as a Disney princess, a perfect lip quiver.

But then it changed back.

"Not yet," she punctuated, the mask falling off, her face all serrated edges and jagged points.

She'd wanted to prove what a great actress she could be, but she only earned an eye roll from Emily. Everything was always a game to Alison. Of course Emily had never known her because nothing about her was ever real. She felt suddenly exhausted and weary.

"We're out of Rosewood now," Emily informed her. "You said you'd take me to the copycat. You said you'd clear my name."

Ali didn't answer, as if turned to stone again, completely inanimate in the seat next to Emily. She stared out of the window once more.

"Ali," Emily prodded. "Where do we go?"

The silence stretched on.

"Alis—"

"I don't know who the copycat is," she interrupted Emily flatly.

Emily almost slammed the breaks.

"What?" she exclaimed. "You said you knew who it was! You said you'd help me. We almost died, Alison!"

Alison slowly turned to look at Emily, taking in her raging anger with impassivity, unfazed and wintry.

"I can't believe I fell for this," Emily continued, shaking her head in disbelief. "I should make you get out of the car right now. I should just leave you on the side of this highway."

"Don't be so dramatic, sweetie—" Ali started.

" _Stop_ calling me that," Emily interrupted her hotly.

"Okay, _honey,_ " Ali pretended to acquiesce, her voice barbed. Emily glared. "I only lied to you because I needed to get out of there."

"You needed out of jail? No shit," Emily retaliated.

"I needed _you_."

Emily actually found herself laughing when she heard Alison say that.

"You always need something, don't you?"

"Look," Ali started angrily. "The copycat was following you, right? Murdering people around you?"

Emily clenched her jaw, nodding.

"Well, they were sending me pictures, too. They were sending me notes through my legal team," she said, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. "They were threatening me."

"And that bothered you?" Emily asked skeptically. "You believed them?"

"They knew—they know details about the case, about the things I did to you and the girls. They told me they were going to kill me in jail."

Emily stared at her in mocking disbelief.

"Big Bad Alison DiLaurentis," Emily jibed. "Scared by threatening anonymous notes."

Alison lips moved into a hard, flat line.

"Sounds like karma if you ask me," Emily finished.

Alison ground her teeth, her eyes flitting over Emily.

"We'll see how much you're laughing when you're face to face with them."

"Fat chance on that happening," Emily replied with a sideways smile, happy to be the one under Alison's skin for once. "You don't even know who it is or where they are."

"I don't need to know," Ali replied, mirroring Emily's smile in an obnoxious way. "Because I'm the bait. They'll come to me."

Emily's smile faded. She wondered if Alison was telling the truth, if she really thought the copycat would track them down.

"And I'm just supposed to trust you on that?"

"I'd take a hard look at your situation, _sweetie_ ," Alison said, sugary sweet, the nickname making Emily seethe. "You don't exactly have a choice at this point, do you?"

Emily thought about that. What were her choices? She could kick Alison out of the car. She could drive their stolen truck out of the state. But she only had a bottle of vodka, poptarts, and a police officer's stolen wallet. She wouldn't make it far.

Alison was right. Emily didn't really have a choice.

She switched on the radio with resignation, hoping to catch a snatch of news. Maybe she wasn't all that screwed if things didn't pan out. Maybe the police thought she was dead. But after a few songs played with no news, she only fumed further, going over everything Alison had told her.

"Why do you keep saying 'they?'" Emily asked. "Isn't the copycat a guy?"

"I don't know," Ali said with a hint of hesitation. "I kind of get the sense that—that—"

"What?" Emily interrupted impatiently.

But Ali was watching her closely now.

"Nothing."

Emily rolled her eyes. "Well, where are we supposed to go then?"

"Let's just go to Philly," Alison said brusquely. "We need to eat. Ditch this car. Get some disguises. Once the news breaks, everyone in the country is going to recognize us."

"Why would we go to a big city then?" Emily questioned. "That's more people who could see us."

"I know a few people there," Ali answered mysteriously.

"Ah, yes," Emily replied with disdain. "Your Ali-cats."

"That's right," she said back slowly.

Emily was well-acquainted with Alison's alleged followers. They were the ones setting up shrines for Ali and rabidly declaring her innocence on the news. There were entire online forums devoted to Alison. They tracked details about her arraignment and her defense team, allowed her biggest supporters to meet and unify. Emily even knew their aliases, she knew the biggest players. After all, she wanted to understand her enemies. An Ali follower had been responsible for the murder of her last girlfriend, Jordan, and she wouldn't underestimate the zealotry of Ali's fans again.

"— _DiLaurentis was abducted right from her hospital bed—"_

Emily's attention snapped towards the radio. She turned it up.

"— _only to lead to a potentially fatal crash off of Holland St. Both the suspect and DiLaurentis are thought to be dead, though no bodies have been found. A K-9 search team will be in Rosewood shortly to look for evidence, but a source tells us the suspect in question is actually Emily Fields, who is as unstable as they come. Spotted earlier at the trial, and thought to be armed and dangerous—"_

Emily turned a slow burning glare to Alison. She'd taken the pepper spray, but she didn't still have it. She lost it in the crash. And she didn't take the gun.

"— _story has unfolded even more unbelievably than anyone could have thought. And, don't forget, if you see or hear anything, call the police—"_

Emily turned the radio down.

"Ali," she said carefully. "Did you take that fucking gun?"

Emily watched her like a poisonous snake, but Alison only shrugged nonchalantly. Emily narrowed her eyes.

"Alison," she repeated warningly.

Alison's head snapped towards her.

"Maybe I did, maybe I didn't," she snarled. "If you want to find out, why don't you search me?"

Emily really considered calling her bluff, her eyes tracing over the hoodie, the boxer shorts, the over large work boots. Emily would find the gun if it was on her. She'd find it if it was in the truck. But her glare only smoldered. It would have to wait. If the news was right, they needed to get where they were going fast. Once the cops found the cabin they'd broken into, they'd start looking for the stolen truck.

"It's cute when you get mad, Em," Ali taunted. "Your dimples really pop."

"Just—shut up," Emily spat. "Stop talking to me."

Emily looked back at the road, gripping the steering wheel so tightly it hurt.

* * *

Ali listened. She didn't talk to Emily again until they were in downtown Philadelphia. When prompted, she gave Emily accurate directions to the train station, which surprised Emily because even she didn't know where it was. She wondered how Ali was so familiar with the city, if she'd ever hidden here before. Again, Emily hated how little she actually knew about Alison when it felt like Alison knew literally everything about her.

After choosing a spot far from any onlookers or potential security cameras, they parked the truck, eager to ditch it. Emily yanked the keys out of the ignition, hopping out of her side and quickly rounding the hood of the truck. On the other side, Alison had swung open her door, but Emily blocked her path, bodily stepping into as her feet reached the ground.

Ali's eyes widened as she grabbed Emily's arm, struggling not to fall backwards into her seat.

"What—what is your problem—" she stammered.

But Emily was already pressing her hands up and under the thick hoodie, Ali gasping slightly as she smoothed thumbs over her stomach, fingers up her sides and down each of her arms. Emily didn't feel anything cold or hard or metallic, but she did pass over bumps and patches of rough skin, scarring she didn't know Ali had. She was standing close to her, practically on top of her, so she could smell that air of vanilla, the one that always clung to Alison. Ali was warm under her clothes, too. And soft.

Ali didn't resist once she realized what Emily was doing, merely watched with catlike eyes. Emily found nothing, though, as she pushed her hands up and down the smooth plain of Ali's back. Emily had forgotten she had nothing on underneath the borrowed shirt, and her fingers shook somewhat with discomfort. Discomfort or… she didn't know what. But she forced herself to keep looking for the gun in her waistband. She couldn't let Ali hurt someone else. Or hurt Emily.

"Are you enjoying this?" Ali asked with a smirk, lazily putting her arms around Emily's neck as she sat back against the seat.

Emily didn't want her to be closer, but she did need to keep searching her. So, she ignored Alison as she patted down over her boxers and began to lift her legs to check her boots. Her eyes followed a particularly large scar that marred Ali's entire left leg. Had she gotten that from the fire? It must've really hurt. She tried not to think about it.

"If you going to check my asshole next," Ali continued, playing with a bit of Emily's hair. "I'd prefer if we took a shower first."

Emily shot her a look of annoyance before removing her arms from around her neck and picking her up off the seat. After placing her on the concrete, she checked the seat cushions, the center console, the floorboards, and the glove box. Ali merely leaned against the side of the truck, curious.

"Where is it, Ali?" she barked, turning on Alison.

"Where's what?" Ali asked innocently, biting her lip.

"The gun," Emily stepped closer to her again, forcing Ali to take a backwards step, her shoulders pressing against the truck cab.

"I don't have a gun," Ali stated, her blue eyes clear and bright.

"You said you had it," Emily threatened, her cheeks burning, feeling hot despite the frigid air outside.

"I said maybe I did," Ali breathed, a puff of foggy air leaving her lips. "Maybe I didn't."

Glowering down at her, it struck Emily then that Ali had _wanted_ Emily to search her. That she'd wanted Emily to touch and feel her, so that she'd become worked up. Flustered. Just like the bed. Had Ali really done that to save her life? Or did she know it would have an effect on Emily, an effect Emily couldn't even begin to understand herself? There was nothing more Emily hated than being tortured and played with by Alison DiLaurentis.

She placed both hands on the side of the truck, trapping Ali between them. She felt that same strange surge of anger, volatility, like the preamble to a volcanic eruption. She remembered that terrible feeling, the one from the courtroom and even the hospital. Could she really kill Ali if it came down to it? She'd thought not. She hadn't gone through with it when she'd had the chance, but that was when she thought Ali would be in prison for the rest of her life. Not staring rebelliously back up at her, calmly breathing warm wisps of air onto her face.

Emily didn't move. She merely looked over her face, the thin scar at her eyebrow, the sapphire depth of her eyes, the dimples of her cheeks. Her blonde hair looked like wet sand in the darkening daylight. She searched, but for what, she didn't know.

"Where are we going, Alison?" she said finally, not removing her hands.

Alison only assessed her warily.

"We'll need to walk," she replied. "It's not far from here."

Emily sighed, her eyes glancing over Ali's outfit again.

"Where could we possibly go looking like this?"

"An old friend's," she answered easily, still regarding Emily with peculiar interest.

"You have friends?" Emily asked bitingly, finally drawing herself away from the blonde. "Or just slaves?"

"Both, I like to think," Ali replied with arrogant smugness.

Emily shook her head, grabbing a beat up hat and a pair of sunglasses. She forced the glasses onto Ali, who yelped in protest, and drew her hoodie up, tightening the drawstrings. Then, she threw the hat onto her head before slamming the truck door, leaving the keys inside.

Once they were set, she followed Alison down a narrow set of streets, through several blocks and curving back alleys. They did pass a few onlookers, but they garnered less attention than Emily would've thought. Maybe people just thought they were homeless. Little did they know.

As they crossed into a busier neighborhood, Emily started to see rainbow stickers, flags, and signs. She looked at Ali in question, but the blonde's eyes were watchful of the street, her hands buried in the front of her hoodie, her bare legs covered in goosebumps. She rounded a corner, down an alley, and jerked her head at the adjacent building.

"This is it," she said.

"Who knew Ali-cats actually lived in alleys?" Emily said sarcastically, but Ali only rolled her eyes.

She walked along the building wall until they came upon a door. Ali wrenched it open, and Emily followed her down a long hallway and crossed what looked like an empty club. The floors were black, shiny and reeked of alcohol and cleaner. There were large hanging lights, dance cages, and a massive stage.

Alison ignored them all and walked to the back of the club. She knocked on a nondescript door.

"Go away, bitches!" Emily heard a feminine voice call out from the interior.

Ali sighed with exaggeration and knocked again.

The door flew open and without further introduction, a girl with blonde curls, high cheekbones, and clever looking eyes addressed Emily with a snarl.

"I said we're not open—"

"CeCe," Alison stated, removing her sunglasses. "It's me."

 **I've always wanted to write CeCe, I can't believe the time has finally come! And it looks like she owns a gay club. Do you think she'll put on a show for Emily and Alison?**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** Hi all! I'm so sorry this took so long to write. I wrote both this chapter and the next one together, so there should only be a week between posts. These were my favorite to write so far! Please let me know what you think and ask any questions.

Some answered questions from the last chapter:

1.) **Will there be a chapter from Ali's perspective?** Yes, there will be a chapter from Ali's perspective. It will be after this chapter and the next.

2.) **Was Courtney nice to Emily?** Courtney and Emily were best friends. She _was_ nice to her, but when she discovered Emily's crush on her, they kissed in the treehouse and then she began teasing Emily about it. She went missing before they ever addressed it.

3.) **What is the background of this story?** This story exactly follows the books, so whatever happened there is canon for this. However, as a refresher, Courtney becomes the Liars' friend in 7th grade after switching places with her twin sister Ali. At the end of the year, she goes missing. The Liars begin to receive threatening notes from "A" (Mona.) Mona dies trying to kill Spencer, and the notes stop for a bit. Courtney's body is discovered in the DiLaurentis backyard, and they begin to receive new threatening notes (Real Ali, the main of this story.) A man is arrested for Courtney's death, and the DiLaurentis parents bring "Courtney"/Real Ali home. Real Ali convinces the Liars that she was their friend originally (she was not, she never knew them). She also starts a physical relationship with Emily. Then, she traps them in a house and sets it on fire. She slips a letter under the door explaining that she hated and murdered her sister, their original friend, and hated the Liars for helping her. The Liars escape the house, but Emily runs into Ali before she leaves the house. Ali calls her a loser, but then there's an explosion, and Emily has the chance to lock her in the burning house, but she doesn't. She leaves the door open for Ali to escape. Ali escapes, and Nick, her co-conspirator, helps nurse her back to health, but she has significant burn scars. Ali spends the next several years torturing and framing the Liars for a number of things, including her own murder. She's caught, and that's when this story starts.

* * *

Emily slept, but not soundly. Fitfully, she tossed and turned, haunted by black images and shadowy dreams. She thought someone might be watching over her, a dark figure with long, white fingers. The fingers curled out, reaching out to touch her. They slowly caressed her face, pushed a nail across her scalp.

" _Emily,"_ it said.

Emily jerked awake, frantically reaching out. She wasn't sure whether it was to swat the hand away or hold it. But she caught nothing. She was in a gloomy room, vaguely lit by a slant of light from a street lamp below, and Emily's eyes skittered over the corners, a lamp, a dresser, searching for the source of the voice. But no one was there.

She sighed, trying to calm her heart rate. She'd woken like this so many times in the last six months, she thought she'd be used to it. But it was always the same. She was always scared, confused, paranoid. She could never quite remember where she was, who she was, what she'd done before she fell asleep.

She glanced out of the unfamiliar window again, registering that it must be late at night. On impulse, she searched the sheets for her phone but quickly realized that she didn't have the burner she'd purchased. She didn't have a wallet, she didn't have keys, she didn't have anything. The last 24 hours came back to her in a rush, a deep swoop. The court room, the hospital, the fall, the river, Ali's warm embrace. She pressed her hands to her eyes, trying to block it all out, it was too much to process.

But it answered her question.

She was in CeCe's apartment above the club. She'd showered, having been eager to get rid of stranger's scent from the borrowed clothes. She could taste the river, too, in the back of her nose, at the base of her throat, the slick, muddy water that had threatened to drown her. And when she'd finished, she'd headed straight for the guest bedroom, driven by pure instinct, even though she was loathe to leave Ali alone. She hadn't looked around. She didn't get dressed. She didn't even remember hitting the mattress. And now, who knew where Alison was, what she was up to. But the cops weren't knocking at her door, so what more could she really ask for?

Emily groaned, pulling her hands away, canvassing the room for any sign of the time. She spotted a bedside clock, and it read 10:32. She'd only slept a few hours, not nearly enough. She still felt bone tired, delirious even. It hurt to even blink.

She slid out of bed, anyway, realizing with a start that she was still in her towel. Her eyes flicked to the dresser, she needed clothes, but instead she caught a snippet of Ali's voice through the bedroom door, that melodic tone, talking with that other voice. Talking to CeCe.

She paused at the foot of the bed, listening. CeCe's voice was deeper with a teasing cadence. As if everything were a big joke, a punctuated one liner. Emily wasn't sure how she felt about her. CeCe had been nice enough, she'd been absolutely ecstatic to see Alison. She'd immediately taken them up to her apartment above the club, suggesting they shower and change. She'd noted that Emily in particular "looked like dried shit." But she had dancing, taunting eyes and a devilish look about her that Emily didn't trust. Plus, she had a strangely similar favoring to Ali, not just in demeanor, but in looks. Though she was taller and older, she was blonde, blue eyed, and even had the same cleft chin. She could've easily been another secret DiLaurentis, so much to the point that Emily wondered if that was CeCe's appeal to Alison. Maybe she was the sister that Alison actually wanted.

She took a step closer, cocking her head, but Emily still couldn't quite make out what they were saying. She sighed, glancing down, and her eyes flashed over a pile of clothing at the end of the bed, neatly folded on the edge of the comforter.

So, someone had been in here.

She picked through them with a finger. A pair of worn jeans with holes at the knees. A long sleeved, black sweater. It looked tight. And revealing. Then, a black baseball cap next to a blonde wig.

She picked it up. _A wig_ , she thought to herself again. _A blonde wig._

She put on the clothes, noticing that the sweater was cut off, her midrift showing. It made her uncomfortable, even though it wasn't _that_ revealing. Emily just didn't wear stuff like that, she never had. She tried to cover it with an arm, but it was no use. Who picked this out for her?

She picked up the hat and wig and opened the door, an eyebrow raised.

"—just be careful," CeCe was finishing, her eyes flicking to Emily standing in the dark, open doorway.

"Well, hello, sleeping beauty," she said, the playful, mischievous glint back in her eye. She'd looked quite serious a moment ago. "That outfit is certainly an upgrade."

Emily held out the wig. "What is this?"

"That's a wig, darling," CeCe said with a shoulder lilt. "You put it on your head."

Emily's jaw tightened. The last thing she needed was another blue-eyed blonde condescending to her.

CeCe tilted her head at Ali, locking eyes with the other blonde.

"You were right," she said to Ali in a mocking tone. "She is hot when she's mad."

"Why would I need to wear a wig?" Emily said in a gruff voice, ignoring the comment.

"In case you didn't know, you're famous, doll," CeCe quipped, approaching Emily, who took a wary step backwards. CeCe only smirked, reaching forward and taking the wig from Emily's hands.

"Well, infamous," she continued, doffing the top. "That hot, angry face of yours is all over the news. I do like the mug shot."

Emily said nothing, annoyed that the media even had that photo to use. They'd taken it when she'd been arrested for Ali's murder. Her hair was straight black, her eyes black and hooded. She remembered the feeling as the camera flashed blindingly; she'd felt trapped and cornered like a hunted animal. She'd felt soiled and slipping, smudged and blotted just like the fingerprint ink fresh on her thumb.

The media had loved using that image in the intervening months, especially when insinuating her mental instability.

"Well, why wouldn't Ali wear—?" Emily began to protest accusingly, glancing back at Alison. But when she caught sight of Ali, her words died. She had a black wig on.

Ali's lips curled in a sly smile as Emily's eyes rolled over her, an errant strand of black hair touching her cheek.

"What do you think?" she asked teasingly.

Emily didn't know what she thought. Ali looked different. So different. The black hair made her eyes look even sharper, more distinctive. Her eye lashes looked longer, her lips pinker. The scar shimmered on the left side of her face, but the long strands of the wig hid most of it. It was almost as if she wasn't Alison DiLaurentis. She was just another beautiful girl with a piercing gaze and kissable lips.

"Why—why do we even need to wear these?" Emily stuttered, tearing her eyes away. "Are we going somewhere? Do we need to leave?"

Emily didn't want to leave. Not yet, at least. She was still so tired.

CeCe only sighed as if Emily were a huge buzzkill. She handed the wig back to Emily.

"Of course not, but we are having a party downstairs I thought you might enjoy. I'm on in," she said, checking her phone, "20 minutes."

She gazed at Emily for a moment before gathering her things.

"Come down, Em," she said with a wink. "You'll like the show."

Without saying anything further, CeCe swept through the door. Emily was unsettled by her Alison-like mannerisms, she didn't like that she'd called her 'Em.' That was a nickname used by her friends. And Alison.

She turned back to Ali, whose eyes were gliding over her outfit.

"I don't want to wear this," Emily told her, not just meaning the wig. She was itching to cover her bared stomach under the scrutiny of Alison's gaze. She even missed the soft texture of the pajama pants. Couldn't she just hide in the apartment for the rest of the night? She fidgeted restlessly.

"People will recognize you," Ali shrugged, closing the distance between them.

"And what if I don't go down?" Emily replied with irritation.

Ali only rolled her eyes. Like CeCe, she took the wig from Emily's hands, but instead of smoothing it over, she peeked at Emily thoughtfully over the strands.

"Here," she instructed softly, pulling out a chair at the dining table behind Emily. "Just sit down for a second."

Emily wanted to object, opening her mouth to do so, but Ali had clearly anticipated that and bodily stepped into her. Emily immediately jumped back, the back of her knees coming into contact with the chair behind her. It groaned against the wooden floor, but Ali moved forward again, a gentle hand on Emily's shoulder, and forced Emily into the seat.

"I don't know why you have to make everything so difficult," she stated under her breath, grabbing bobby pins from the packet on the table.

Emily was about to retaliate, she didn't like Ali's blatant coercion, but Ali stepped lightly between her legs before she had the chance. Then, Ali was bent close, sweeping hair away from Emily's face with a tender finger. It made the air leave Emily's lungs, rendering her mute.

She didn't protest as Alison slowly and meticulously bobby pinned her hair up, Ali's fingers sure and practiced. Even when Ali's nails grazed her scalp, either unintentionally or intentionally, forcing Emily to repress a shiver, she didn't stop her.

 _Why?_ she thought sluggishly.

Maybe because Ali was standing so close, and Emily could smell her again. Maybe because she could see the faint freckles on her face, the scar winding down her neck like spilled liquid, the wet part of her lip that stuck out in concentration.

And Emily couldn't help it. Memories of Courtney flooded her mind. Courtney braiding Emily's hair, Courtney playing with it during sleepovers. Courtney had always loved it, calling it thick and exotic and beautiful. Emily had never thought she was beautiful and had always blushed, not sure how to receive a compliment from someone like _that_ , someone actually beautiful, someone like "Alison." Even with her own wig on, her brilliant blonde hair hidden, Alison was still so like her that it hurt Emily's heart to look at her. But she did anyway.

Alison was done before she realized it, taking the black hat from Emily's other hand and straightening it on top of the wig. Ali looked over her again, still between Emily's legs, a palm on the edge of the table.

"Isn't the hat a little much?" Emily blurted when Ali's eyes finally landed on hers.

"I think it completes the look," Ali replied approvingly. "Plus, we didn't blend it in or use a cap. So, you need it."

"Can't I just put a bag over my head?"

"And deprive the club of those high cheekbones?" Ali said playfully, pinching Emily's cheek.

Emily tried to dodge away from her, but her chair back merely hit the table, keeping her in place. Ali smiled victoriously and stepped back, walking away towards the kitchen counter. Emily watched her, still rubbing her cheek, as if she could wipe Alison's touch away, but Ali only popped open the bottle of vodka from the cabin. She poured it fluidly over two short square glasses of ice.

"Want a drink?" she offered.

Emily stared at the glass hungrily. She _did_ want a drink, she couldn't remember the last time she'd gone this long without one. But why was Alison being so nice? What had she been doing while Emily had been sleeping? Emily felt exposed, an odd desire to cover her stomach as Alison approached, glass extended.

"Did you pick out these clothes?" Emily asked distractedly, her gaze lingering on the glass as if it were a cup of poison.

Ali's eyes narrowed slightly.

"You know, it's okay to lighten up a _little_ , Em."

"Is this not _light_ enough for you?" Emily snapped back, shaking the blonde wig. Ali smirked, and Emily plucked the glass from her hands.

Emily looked down into the crystal clear contents of the glass.

"Should we stay here?" she questioned, glancing hesitantly back at Ali. "How well do you really know CeCe?"

"She's like a sister to me," Ali defended. "I trust her with my life."

Emily shook the ice cubes uncertainly against each other.

"One night," Ali said, tilting her head.

Alison preemptively lifted her glass. As if by going first, Emily would just follow her. But Emily _knew_ not to trust her, knew it with every fiber of her being. She knew Ali didn't want her to relax, to enjoy herself, to get a good night's rest. But, nonetheless, the temptation was still there. It had been such a long day.

"Fine," Emily finally complied. "One night."

"Cheers," Ali said, nodding her head.

Emily watched Ali's lips curve around the edge of her glass while she swallowed, and Emily did the same. It had to be two or three shots, but there was a stark bitter taste on the tail end. It didn't taste like vodka at all.

"Jesus," she spat, feeling the burn, clutching her chest. "That tasted like shit."

Ali was coughing, too, looking back at the bottle on the counter.

"Can vodka go bad?" she asked.

* * *

Emily felt restless, anxious as she stood at the bar waiting for her next drink. She found herself grinding her teeth, clenching her fingers together. She wasn't sure if she was nervous to be in the crowd or if she was scared that someone would somehow recognize her. Or maybe it was just from the events of the day and being in yet another new and alien place.

The club that CeCe ran was huge, it sprawled across at least half the block. There were several different sections that Emily had seen, all with different themes. The first was the main floor, down below, where she and Ali had originally entered. It had been empty and quiet then, but it was wall to wall with people now. They were dancing, drinking, yelling, grabbing each other's hands and jumping up and down. Then, across from that, there was a giant outdoor patio, another bar, and then stairs that wound up to where Emily was now. She stood in a show room of sorts. There was a small stage, lines and lines of chairs, two more bars, and even an outdoor space above the street. The place just kept going and going. It had an unusual name, too.

The Dollhouse.

She was up here mainly to watch CeCe's show. Alison was there, too. She stood on the other side of the room, just to the right of the stage. She was leaned up against a metal railing, sipping a drink, curiously examining the crowd.

Try as she might to avoid looking at her, Emily couldn't quite help herself. While there were plenty of other pretty girls, her eyes continually found their way back to Ali's shiny black wig, her slender form, like a wayward homing pigeon. Like a bee returning back to its hive each night.

As she shuffled forward in line, Ali caught her watching this time, Emily could see the flash of her blue eyes even at this distance. She wore a long-sleeved black dress with red heels. The heels were eye catching, the strong pop of color looking to Emily like some sort of protest at having to dress so indiscreetly. But Ali didn't wave or move, she simply watched Emily in return and toyed with the straw of her drink with her tongue.

"Hi, what can I get you?" the bartender asked, causing Emily to jump slightly and return her attention to the bar.

"A double vodka—" Emily stuttered, not quite sure what to mix it with.

"Vodka and what?" the bartender asked with a patient smile.

"Anything," Emily said in a muted tone, glancing back at Ali who was still watching her. "Surprise me."

She stepped off to the side and forced herself to break eye contact with her tormentor. It was good timing, too, because the lights dimmed and the drag performance started.

As the beat kicked in, Emily immediately recognized the song. It was Applause by Lady Gaga, and CeCe emerged from the curtains in an elaborate, Gaga-esque outfit, heavy make-up, and hair completely done up. She was almost unrecognizable to Emily, but she definitely had showmanship. There were already a dozen hands holding dollar bills up.

Emily had only been to one other drag show, so she didn't have a lot to compare, but she watched appreciatively as CeCe went through her routine. She was actually a pretty solid dancer and definitely had a flare for the dramatic. From what Emily could tell, it was usually all about the costume and minimally about the dance, but CeCe was nailing both.

"CeCe's great isn't she?" a voice said to her left.

Emily jumped a bit, startled by the proximity of the person, but it was only the bartender, handing her the drink. Emily took it, smiling.

"Do you know her?" she asked conversationally.

"Yeah, I work here most nights," she shared. "CeCe owns the place, and she's a character. You get to know her pretty quick."

Emily nodded, not sure what else to say.

She took a careful sip of her drink. Unlike the last glass of vodka, this one went down smooth and easy. It tasted like pineapple, orange, and maybe a twist of something else.

"This is good," she commented, surprised that the bartender was still loitering in front of her behind the bar. Emily used the moment to take a good look at her. She had brown hair that fell to her shoulders. Her eyes were a dark, too, chocolate brown, at least from what Emily could tell in the low light.

But a movement drew her eyes back to the stage. CeCe had done a backbend into the crowd, and an eager looking patron stuffed a dollar bill into her cleavage.

"You'd never know, right?" the bartender said with a small laugh, causing Emily to look back again.

"Never know what?"

"That she was trans," she observed lightly. "She's gorgeous."

Emily raised her eyebrows, returning her attention to CeCe, who was cartwheeling across the stage now.

"No way," she said.

"You didn't know?" the bartender asked with an easy smile. "You thought some pretty white girl ran this place and MC'd a drag show?"

Emily blinked. It did seem pretty dumb of her, now that she thought about it.

"Wow," Emily said. "I had no idea."

"You're pretty innocent, huh?" the bartender asked, draping herself over the bar. She had plenty of other customers, but she completely ignored them in favor of giving Emily attention. Was this girl flirting with her?

"I'm Paige," she said, offering her hand. Emily shook it.

"Em—" she started, but quickly caught herself. "Emma."

"Nice to meet you," she said, dropping Emily's hand. "That's a pretty name."

The girl continued to stare idly at her, and Emily returned it, happy to have something or some _one_ else on her mind for once.

"I like the hair, too," she said, a bit lower and under her breath.

Emily's eyebrows knitted slightly, something about that… wasn't quite right. Did she know it was a wig? Did she recognize Emily?

Paige. The name sounded familiar. In fact, it seemed a lot like one of the usernames Emily had seen on one of the more fanatic Alison DiLaurentis sites. Dollpages6. Was she another Ali-cat? If it _was_ her, Emily had even contacted her a few times, looking for info on the case. Could that explain why she was acting strangely, ignoring her patrons? But surely Paige hadn't recognized her, would never have known it was Emily messaging her.

"How long did you say you'd been working here?" Emily asked, trying to sound casual.

"About six months," she replied, looking into Emily's half empty glass.

"Want me to refill that for you?" she asked, but before Emily had a chance to reply, Paige slid her hand over hers. "We could go somewhere else, too? To talk?"

It was so unusual, Emily was even more positive about her suspicions. But Paige's eyes glazed over Emily, landing on something behind her.

"Looks like your friend is coming over here," she said quietly, emphasizing the word 'friend', slinking her hand away from Emily's.

And, sure enough, Emily felt a sudden tight grip around her upper bicep, nails digging into the sensitive flesh of her inner arm.

"Babe?" a sultry voice asked. "You didn't get me one?"

If Alison's vise grip wasn't strong enough to tip her off, Emily knew that torturous, kittenish tone anywhere. She turned to glare at Ali only to be met with a pair of equally hostile eyes. Then, Alison's attention shifted to Paige, who looked like a gun had been pointed at her.

"Get lost," Ali said with a cutting smile.

Paige looked insulted, but she turned back towards the bar, attending to several impatient customers.

But Emily's mind was spinning. If Paige _was_ an Ali-cat, wouldn't she know Alison and recognize her, too? The idea scared her. She felt dizzy suddenly, antsy, her heart was racing. It felt so severe that she wondered if she was having a bad reaction to the alcohol.

Despite this, Ali's needlelike grip called her back to the situation, and Emily wrenched her arm away.

"What're you doing?" she asked angrily, her heart still wild.

"What were _you_ doing?" Ali retorted, teeth bared.

"Talking," Emily said simply.

"Talking?"

Emily crossed her arms, taking a sip of her drink even though it felt like her skin was crawling. Ali only glared at her.

"It's a bar, Alison," Emily said with heavy condescension, knowing it would annoy Ali. "People talk."

"Someone could recognize you, Emily, did you think about that?" Ali threatened. "No 'talking,'" she mocked using air quotes, taking a step closer until she was eye to eye with Emily.

"I can do whatever I want," Emily challenged, not backing down. "And that includes talking, drinking, looking, and maybe even touching other girls at this bar."

Emily knew she was pushing it with Alison. She didn't even plan to do any of those things. Talking to the bartender had simply been incidental. But she knew it would get Ali worked up. She wasn't even sure why she wanted to irritate her. Maybe the vodka was "lightening" her up, after all.

Regardless, it had the intended effect. Alison's face was the very portrait of rage.

"Not while you're with me, you can't," Ali snarled, close enough to kiss.

They stood that way for a tense second, locked like two bucks with clashing horns, before Emily smiled, leaned back, and barked out a bitter laugh.

"You don't own me, and if I didn't know better, I would think you were jealous, _sweetie_ ," Emily intoned, using Ali's favorite pet name against her. If it was possible, Alison somehow looked even more furious.

"Please," Ali balked and pointed an accusing finger. "If _I_ didn't know better, I'd say you can't take your eyes off of me, _sweetie_."

"That's where the stage is," Emily countered quickly. "I'm not looking at you, don't flatter yourself."

Ali scoffed, breaking their eye contact to throw a hateful gaze back at the bar.

"Tell me, Em," she said in a dangerously cloying tone. "What do you dislike more? That you actually have my attention or that you want it?"

Emily scowled at her, and Ali looked smug in response.

"Is it the hair, Em?" she whispered, leaning close Emily's ear. "Do you _like_ it?"

Emily hesitated a moment before jerking away from her, but it was too late. Ali had already gotten hold of her drink, which she snatched right out of Emily's hand. She downed the rest of it in one swift gulp, staring defiantly at Emily. Then, she slammed it on the bar and stalked away.

Emily watched her disappear into the crowd, feeling shocked, angry that Alison had gotten the last word. What did she mean by that last comment, anyway? Emily didn't want her attention. The only thing she wanted from her was the identity of the copy cat and, beyond that, for her to plead guilty to the crimes she'd committed. That was _it._

Fuming and with that terrible feeling of pins and needles, Emily left the upstairs bar. On the first floor, it was considerably more crowded, a lot louder. At first, it was making the feeling worse. But, then, she thought about having to look at Alison again and decided that, no, she'd stay down here. Maybe all the people and the noise and the chaos would make Emily forget Ali even existed.

She lingered near the dance floor for a few minutes, starting to wonder if she was experiencing some sort of panic attack. It just didn't seem right to feel _this_ worked up, _this_ anxious. But, then, strangely the bad feeling, the restless syndrome seemed to dissipate. She pressed her hand against a large column next to her. Structural, probably. She brushed her hand across it, suddenly interested in its texture. It felt cool to the touch, bumpy, metallic. She kept doing it. It was comforting.

As she continued to stroke the column, it was as if every bad thing was washing away. Like someone had spilled liquid sunshine all over her. She looked around. The music, too, seemed suddenly more vibrant, the beat like her heart itself. Was it inside her?

Was that a weird thought? To wonder if the music was pulsing both in the club and through her? Hadn't she been angry and agitated only a moment ago? She couldn't even remember it. It felt distant. The feeling had floated away on the same cool breeze that she felt was gently blowing over her skin. Her spine buzzed, as if she were entering a warm bath.

"Wha—?" Emily asked herself out loud, but the words felt elongated. She looked down at her hands. Even the action of bringing them up to her face for inspection felt effortless. More than effortless. Like she was floating. Or glowing? She wasn't altogether sure.

 _Wait_ , she thought. And in a moment of purest clarity, Emily knew what was happening. She'd been drugged.

She pulled her hand away from her face. She knew it was true, but at the same time, it didn't bother her. Not really, at least. She just accepted it. She looked up, tracking the lights with her eyes. They were vivid, resonant, vibrating. They were calling her into the crowd. She wanted to dance, the music was making her _so_ happy. The song changed, too, as she entered, and it was perfect. This was the perfect place to be. The best place. The only place.

As she danced, she had no idea how much time had passed. Five minutes? Thirty? She'd never been this happy or felt this blissful. At least, not until she felt a pair of arms slip around her waist from behind, a chin rest itself on her shoulder. She knew who it was without knowing how.

"What's happening to me?" she asked Alison, turning in her arms.

Ali's hands dropped to her waist, and she danced slowly with Emily, seductively, like a pocket watch lulling her into a hypnotic trance. Ali watched Emily, standing close, trailing an arm up her side, her eyes catlike and calm as always. But something was different, off. Ali's pupils were massive. She would've looked scary, like the monster she'd always imagined, if Emily didn't feel so profoundly euphoric.

"I spiked your drink," she admitted easily.

It should've scared Emily. Made her angry. But she didn't feel anything but happiness. She was awash in it, consumed by it. Was it really that troubling that Alison had spiked her drink? It certainly wasn't surprising.

 _Alison_ , she thought, wrapping an arm around Ali's slim waist, flattening her hands across the smooth fabric of Ali's dress. Alison was here. Why did everything feel so good? With her other hand, she touched Ali's hair, realizing that she hadn't felt the wig yet. She'd thought she'd be repulsed by it, but instead she was fascinated. It still looked real, even this close. It didn't smell like Ali though, and she didn't like that.

Weren't they talking about something? She could barely stay focused. She trailed her hand up and down Ali's sides, played with the end of Ali's locks.

"The vodka from the kitchen?" Emily finally asked.

"Mhm," Ali singsonged, running her hands up Emily's back. Emily could feel her nails. It felt so good, too good, the best. She had goosebumps.

"With what?" she asked distantly.

"Ecstasy," Ali replied lowly in her characteristic rasp, moving her face closer to Emily's. It felt like they were in a bubble on the dance floor. Like they were the only two human beings who existed.

Emily looked closely at her.

"Did you take it, too? Your eyes look weird."

"I did," Ali replied, touching Emily's cheek. She pulled Emily's face down by her chin, so she could look level at her pupils. She held her there as if she were holding fine china, a delicate tea cup. Emily was unable to stop herself from draping her arms around Ali's neck while she was standing this close. It just needed to happen.

"Wow," Ali said dreamily. "Your eyes look weird, too."

It struck Emily then that Alison sounded both like and very unlike herself. She was still teasing, but not angry. It was as if she were all soft edges, like her voice was being rounded by a fine grate. Worn smooth.

But Ali wasn't smooth and soft and silky, Emily thought. She was hard and sharp and manipulative.

"Why?" Emily asked, but it wasn't accusing. Just direct.

"I'm—" Ali started, pulling her hand away from Emily's face. She looked conflicted. "I'm not totally sure now."

Emily didn't say anything else, she just danced with Ali. It didn't feel bizarre, like it should have, to be so close to her. It just felt natural. Like what she wanted to do. She was just going to do what she wanted to do.

 **That's the end of the first part! Stay tuned shortly for part two. What do you think these two will get up to on X? Also, thank you so much to both of my betas! They've got all your backs for the Emison angst and drugs smut you deserve.**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** Hello! I'm glad everyone liked the last chapter. Loved several of the reviews, a lot of insightful comments. For instance, when a guest reviewer mentioned Ali's line about wanting attention and how that could've easily been applied to herself, accurate! Also, from that dressing Emily in the wig was very similar to dressing her up as doll and how it represented her control over her, especially given that the hair was blonde, very astute! And, of course, this was also a fantastic review response:

" **EMISON ON X? FUCK ME I WASN'T READY FOR THIS TWIST OF FATE"**

As well as:

" **When are they going to fuck? :("**

Wish granted! Enjoy.

* * *

They were still dancing, for how long Emily wasn't sure. The lights were mesmerizing, the music was resonant. Time seemed impossible to gauge. All she was aware of were Alison's roaming hands, at first around her waist, then her neck, now under her arms. They trailed around Emily's shoulder blades, touching, searching, while Alison gazed down at Emily's exposed midriff. She looked eager to touch it. Emily wondered if she was slowly working up to it.

It was strange to think that not long ago they'd been arguing, that Emily had felt incredibly antsy and upset. But what had felt like sandpaper between them before now felt smooth, like silk. She didn't feel anything negative. She didn't even feel like the same person. She felt complete. Content. The ecstasy had washed away the anger, and not just from tonight, from always. Everything sad felt happy. Everything painful felt pleasant. It was as if everything she hadn't understood before had become clear, and the future was beautiful, promising. She felt cleansed and cured.

She watched Ali, basking in the combined sensations of her touch and the drug. Her eyes flicked over the slim blue of Ali's irises, the color looking even more acute under the influence. She looked at her nose, her lips, her scar. Her own hands were lazy and relaxed, running over the material just above Alison's waist.

"Can I touch your face?" she found herself asking, a hand already raising from Ali's hip, her body humming.

Alison looked up at her quizzically.

"Your scar," Emily clarified. "Can I touch it?"

Ali nodded slowly, and Emily's hand wavered before she slipped her fingers over her cheek. Emily had cupped her face before, in the bathroom years ago when they'd kissed, but that been before the fire. Alison hadn't been burned yet. After, when Emily saw photos of Alison, she would wonder if the scar would be ridged and rough. She brushed her thumb across it, mapping its surface, realizing it was somewhere in between. Alison fluttered her eyes closed, soft and compliant, like a cat getting scratched under its chin.

"Why were you watching me?" she asked, surprising Emily as she opened her eyes again. Her pupils looked a bottomless black, like Emily was staring down, about to drop a stone into a deep well.

"When?"

"Tonight and earlier in the car," Ali answered, her voice sounding dreamy and not like herself. "You look at me so strangely sometimes."

Emily took a moment to consider her answer. Why did she watch Alison? How could she explain that she just had some sort of weird magnetic pull? Didn't everyone feel that way when they saw her?

"I guess I wanted to talk to you," Emily answered hesitantly. "I want to know you."

"Well," Ali started, moving her hands from Emily's upper back to her the unclothed portion of her lower back. When her fingers made contact, Emily's spine tingled. "What do you want to know?"

Emily only swayed with her, thinking, what _did_ she want to know? Why hadn't she realized before it could be this easy? She could've just asked Alison anything. She felt like every problem before had a simple solution, like she had taken a blind fold off and was seeing for the very first time.

"What's it feel like to kill someone?" Emily asked.

Realizing what she'd said out loud, she glanced at Alison. She wasn't so much afraid of her reaction as she was curious, but Alison only looked back at her calmly. She even smirked slightly when Emily caught her eye.

"You tried to kill me," she said, that strange quality still in her voice. An airiness, a bouncy sort of happiness.

She turned in Emily's arms, pressing her back against Emily's front as she slowly and provocatively slid down her body. On her way back up, she took Emily's hands in hers, they were richly warm, heavenly soft. With Emily's chin resting on her shoulder, Alison turned her head so that her cheek was close to Emily's while she ground against her to the beat of the music. It felt magnified to Emily, zoomed in, overpoweringly intense. It was as if it was lasting forever but lasting no time at all.

"You thought you killed Tabitha," she continued pressing into Emily, sinuous and serpentine. "What did that feel like?"

Emily remembered Tabitha, then. Her pale blonde hair, her Ali-like disposition. She'd had burns, too, all up and down her arms. Emily had been so convinced it was Alison when she'd watched her fall backwards into empty air, down onto the beach. She'd seen her lying there on the sand, motionless, doll-like, and Emily had felt a pitch of anxiety and adrenaline. She'd thought Alison, real Alison, was dead. She thought they'd finally killed her _._ And she'd felt relieved.

She'd felt guilty about that for a long time, that she'd been happy another person was dead. But it had all been in vain because Alison was alive, here, and writhing against Emily. And, strangely, Emily wasn't upset about that like she usually was. She was even _happy_ Ali was alive. Their long, destructive history… it all seemed silly, unnecessary now. Why couldn't they just be like this? Connected? Calm? Safe? Why couldn't they just forgive each other?

She tried to remember, pushing up the sleeves of Alison's dress, touching her upper arms, swishing her palms back and forth over her skin like the rough sweeps of a paintbrush. Then, she did remember the reason. It clouded her wonderful euphoria to think about it, even if only a moment.

"I guess what I mean is…" Emily paused. "What did it feel like? Killing your own sister?"

At that question, Ali turned to face her, placing her hands on Emily's shoulders and digging her fingers into the muscle. She stood close, mere inches away, sharing the same oxygen, same breaths of air as Emily. Emily expected her to be angry, but she looked open, sincere.

"I wasn't going to do it," she started, her face shifting into something Emily had never seen. Remorse? Shame? "I wasn't going to kill her."

Emily stared at her, watching the vulnerability wash over Ali's features. It was so different than how guarded and methodical she normally was. And, because of it, Emily trusted her. All of the fear or anxiety that might've warped her reaction before, it just wasn't there. She didn't feel inclined to judge either herself or anyone else for that matter. In the moment, she believed that everyone could be good, even Alison.

"She said she'd switch back," Ali continued, looking distant. "She begged me, and then I—then I just couldn't do it."

Ali's eyes furrowed, and she looked far away, elsewhere. She distractedly scratched the back of Emily's neck with her nails. It felt amazing to Emily, she never wanted her to stop, but she needed to refocus on what she wanted to say next.

"But you did do it," Emily prompted.

"I did," she agreed after a moment. "Nick showed up."

Emily watched Ali closely, hoping she would continue. Outside of the letter, she'd never heard Ali share details about Courtney. It was like glimpsing a rare and beautiful creature at night. Emily didn't want to move for fear of scaring it away.

"I've never told anyone that," Ali said quietly, looking back at Emily, ensnaring her with those big, black eyes.

"What?" Emily asked.

But Ali had shifted past that conversation point, swaying with the bass of a new song. Her movement was hypnotic, and Emily became aware of her own hands again, which were wrapped tightly around Ali's waist.

"Did you know my sister tried to kill me when we were younger?" Ali asked, pressing her fingers up Emily's neck and into the length of her fake blonde hair. "She tried to drown me."

Her Alison? Emily thought hazily. Her Courtney trying to hurt her twin sister?

"That's why they locked her up. Just tell the truth, she'd said," Ali mimed, Emily was enticed by the liquid movement of her lips. "'The truth will set you free.'"

Emily tried to imagine that, a sibling of hers trying to kill her. The thought of the two sisters at each other's throats, even when they were young, just seemed so sad.

Emily cupped her cheek again, bringing Ali's eyes back to hers.

"I'm sorry," she said sincerely.

Ali looked at her strangely, as if she were seeing and touching and feeling her for the first time tonight. She looked suddenly somber.

"You know I would never really hurt you, right?" she said seriously, those eyes twinkling. Her finger traced a line down Emily's cheek and jaw. "I would never kill you."

For some reason, Emily believed her, even though she shouldn't. Even though Ali had definitely tried to kill her more times than Emily could count on one hand. She just felt too connected to her. Like all of this had been one colossal, cosmic mistake.

Before she could share as much, all of the stage lights changed to a bright neon green. A heavy mist began to descend and build on the dance floor. Both Ali and Emily looked around, trying to spot the source of the fog, but it was quickly forgotten as Emily felt the vapor cool and wet on her skin, exquisitely pleasant. As it collected around them, the bright lights lancing through it, Emily could see no one but Alison.

Ali moved closer, pressing her body against Emily's, as if the cover of the fog was exactly what she'd been waiting for.

"Do you ever wonder what you're actually capable of?" Ali spoke against Emily's ear, one of her hands sneaking up and under her shirt.

Emily was only vaguely aware of the question as Ali's nails grazed over the clasp of her bra. She shivered despite herself. Between the fog and Alison, it felt like she had goosebumps everywhere.

"The people in this bar, they've never been tested," Ali continued, her voice husky, her breath warm. "They haven't been pushed. They don't know who they'd become with a gun held to their head."

 _Not like us_ , Emily sensed Alison had wanted to say. Because Emily once had a gun to held to her head. Ali had held it there, and Emily wasn't the same after.

"Who did you become?" Emily asked instead with a shudder. Alison's other hand had swept across her stomach, kneading lightly into her abs.

"Something else," Ali answered honestly. Emily felt her breath move to her neck.

She couldn't think of a response. Ali's fingernails were still tracing patterns over her bare skin, leaving her breathless. Which was an odd feeling with the ecstasy. Now that she was breathing harder, she became conscious of how weird it felt, how incredible, like something warm and wet was expanding and contracting inside her.

Alison pulled back slightly, and Emily opened her eyes to see her leaning close, staring at Emily's lips.

"I wish it had been me that you loved," she said.

Emily heard it, but it was difficult to process. Alison had said things like this before, but never to this degree or with such openness and authenticity. She'd never taken it seriously. Did she really feel that way?

"Is that why you did all those things to me?" she asked.

"I think I did it to get close to you," Ali answered frankly. "Maybe I was testing you, and now you're not the same. You're like me."

 _Am I?_ Emily thought.

Were they the same? They had each been through so much. And they were both certainly different now than when they had started. Maybe together they could get back to who they were supposed to be. Maybe they needed each other.

Emily lifted a hand to Ali's face again, pushing her fingers behind her jaw, to the soft downy skin behind her ears. She watched Alison bite her lip as she glanced down to Emily's mouth again. She looked so focused, so attentive, like no one else existed in the world except for Emily Fields. Ali angled up towards her mouth, but Emily noticed that the mist was clearing. People would see them.

"Hey," she said, causing Ali to pause and open her eyes. "Can we go somewhere else?"

Ali glanced around, too, remembering where they were. A new upbeat song also started, and the party began to rage around them again.

"Okay," she said, taking Emily's hand in hers.

Emily pulled Alison by their conjoined hands, snaking their bodies through the hot and sweaty crowd. Luckily, no one paid them any attention. Which was good because Emily wasn't sure where she was going, she was slightly disoriented from all of the lights and sounds. But then she found herself pushing through two double doors leading to the club's large, expansive patio.

She hesitated for a moment, Alison lingering behind her. It was a lot colder out here, but it felt great on her skin. Stark and brisk. There were also outdoor heaters, so it wasn't as freezing as it would normally be. Which was probably why it was almost as crowded out here as it was inside. There were several groups of mostly wispy gay men and standoffish looking girls. They huddled in circles, clutching cigarettes while clouds of smoke plumed above them like small chimneys in the winter.

Emily stared at the cigarette held by a man close by. For some reason, the idea of smoking sounded amazing. It had been awhile, and normally Emily didn't like the habit, but she wondered how it would feel on her tongue, in her mouth. The taste of the smoke, even, seemed delectable.

With Ali's hand still in hers, she approached the guy, who turned to look at her curiously.

"Can I bum one?"

"Sure," he said with a slight smile, reaching into his back pocket. He held the package out and Emily took a cigarette eagerly. She stared at it a bit too long, feeling the paper press against her fingers.

"Love your hair," he said.

Emily looked up, confused for a moment.

 _Oh_ , she thought. She'd forgotten about the wig. How was that possible that she'd forgotten? But then she smiled a huge smile. It was normal for her to be so happy about a compliment, right?

"Thanks, that's so sweet of you," she gushed.

"Do you need a light?" he asked, looking charmed by her.

"That'd be great," she replied, dropping Ali's hand. Was everyone always this friendly? She should really talk to people more.

She held the cigarette to her lips as he sparked the lighter. She watched the flame flicker yellow and orange and pulled the smoke through, feeling the burn in her throat. It felt delicious.

Once it was lit, she held the cigarette to the side and pulled the stranger into a bear tight hug. She couldn't even remember the last time she'd hugged someone. Why did she stop? It felt so good.

"You're a life saver, thanks," she said, pulling back.

The guy laughed. "It's just a cigarette."

Emily was going to say that it was so much more, but she was interrupted by a hand sliding back into hers, guiding her away. It was Ali, who was only smiling at her, but Emily turned and waved goodbye and proceeded to talk Ali's ear off about how great people really were.

Ali listened patiently, leading them up a flight of stairs and stopping halfway up. While they paused, Emily took her first full drag on the cigarette.

"Oh my God," she said aloud. It tasted so good. It was burning and paper and smoke and nicotine. There was even something dry and earthy about it.

She looked at Ali as she blew a smoke ring. Ali had leaned against the brick wall across from her, watching her with that same amused smile. Her eyes followed the smoke ring as it expanded, and Emily vaguely wondered if Ali would taste as good as the cigarette.

"Did you ever love him?" she asked instead. She flicked the ash from the cigarette down and away.

"Who?" Ali asked, her heart-shaped face looking innocent and beguiling.

"Nick."

"Oh," Ali said with a not so subtle roll of her eyes. She leaned further back against the wall, kicking a foot out so that an ankle rested between Emily's two legs. She looked up at the starless night sky.

"He told me that when it was all over I was going to be his captive, his prisoner," she explained. "But I didn't want to go anywhere with him."

"You didn't answer my question," Emily said after a moment, after another drag, another ash flick.

"I thought I was," she conceded, her eyes glazing back over Emily.

"Thought?" Emily asked.

"You don't know what it's like to be locked up," Ali said slowly. "You don't exactly have the luxury of choice. All you have are your dreams, and all you can do with those dreams is share them with someone else. It becomes everything."

It was so new for Emily to hear Alison speak freely. She felt like she could suddenly empathize with her pain and sorrow and loneliness. She wanted to squash it, beat it down like an invasive plant.

She blew another smoke ring.

"Can I have a puff of that?" Ali asked, following the ring again with her eyes.

"Have you ever smoked before?"

"No," she admitted.

"Really?"

"I'm not too fond of fire," she said.

"Oh," Emily said, feeling a little stupid. "Of course."

She stood up from the stair railing she'd been leaning against and stepped toward Ali. She thought about handing the cigarette to her, but Emily didn't want it to make her nervous. So, she hesitated. She had an idea, but she wasn't sure if it was a good one. She wondered what it would feel like, though. Wondered a bit too much, a bit too often.

"Open your mouth," Emily instructed.

Ali looked at her inquiringly, but did what she asked without question.

Emily took another long drag of the cigarette, keeping the smoke swirling in her mouth. She closed the space between them, dipping down to Ali's mouth. Careful not to let their lips touch, she blew the smoke inside her parted lips. Neither closed their eyes as Ali inhaled. She coughed slightly, causing their lips to brush against each other. It felt charged, like a strain of electrical current passing between them. Emily pulled back quickly, while Ali exhaled the smoke through her mouth, eyes never leaving hers.

"That tastes how it smells," she said simply.

"Most things do."

Emily watched the tip of her cigarette while Ali stared at her.

"Did you ever love her? Love me?" Alison asked, bringing Emily's attention back to her. Again the hesitant note in her voice surprised Emily. She was accustomed to thinking of her as someone cold and untouchable. And Emily certainly didn't think she ever thought of her.

"I loved a version of you," Emily admitted, rolling the cigarette in her fingers.

She wasn't sure why she felt the need to tell her that, but she needed to talk. And it wasn't like this was something Alison didn't know. She knew her feelings for Courtney. She even knew Emily's feelings for her.

"But I told you that, remember?" she reminded Ali, leaning on the railing again. "You called me a loser."

"I'm sorry," Alison replied, looking legitimately pained. As Emily retreated, she took a step forward, following her.

"I would've helped you, you know," Emily said, still sharing, still talking. "But you wouldn't let me."

"I wanted you to," Ali stated, taking another forward step, placing her hands on the railing on both sides of Emily. "When I came back, I knew you liked her, but I wanted you to like me. But I—I was just angry. Really angry."

"I know," Emily said. And she did. She knew that anger intimately.

"It's funny," Ali admitted. "Because it all feels so stupid right now."

"I know," Emily replied again.

"I wish I hadn't done it."

Emily almost wanted to say that it didn't matter, that it was all forgotten, forgiven. It felt so easy to do that right now. If she could forgive herself for all the mistakes she'd made, she could forgive Alison.

"Can I have another?" Ali asked, interrupting her thoughts.

Emily nodded, taking another pull, trapping the smoke in her mouth. This time she didn't have to lean far because Alison was practically on top of her, already fitting her mouth to Emily's. When Emily was done blowing the smoke, though, Alison didn't pull away. She let the smoke billow out of her mouth and closed her lips around Emily's, kissing her.

Normally Emily might've been surprised or even resisted, but she couldn't. The sensation was too intoxicating, too overwhelming. Alison massaged her lips slowly over Emily's, and Emily reciprocated. The thought was a little insane for her mind to process, but she was kissing Alison back. She knew she should stop, but she didn't. It felt too amazing.

It reminded her that she had a question to answer. So, she dropped the cigarette, took Alison's chin in her free hand, and pulled up gently. Alison acquiesced, her mouth opening, allowing Emily's tongue to dip inside.

What did she taste like? The answer was honeyed, a little smoky, and addictive.

"Fuck, you taste good," Ali breathed, breaking away.

It was like Ali had read her thoughts. Kissing her was like Emily had remembered, but it was also different. Better. This time it wasn't a lie.

She cupped both sides of Ali's face. She wanted to tell her that she was beautiful, she was confident, and so smart. The other things… couldn't they be fixed? Did Ali just need love?

Ali kissed her again before she could finish her thought, this time probing Emily's mouth with her own tongue. It was wet and snakelike. It was dexterous and expert. The kiss became faster, harder. Ali moved her hands hungrily to Emily's hips, pinning her against the railing. Emily could feel her fingers, warm, even in the cold.

"You feel so good," Emily rasped against her lips. "I always want to touch you like this."

"I always want you to touch me like this," Ali replied silkily, her eyes still closed.

They kissed again, Emily pressing her hands against the base of Alison's back, bringing her body flush against hers. Her hands moved downward, over her ass, giving it a firm squeeze. Ali moaned into her mouth, flicking her tongue against Emily's bottom lip. Keeping one hand on her ass, she slid the other into her hair as Ali nipped and kissed and licked within her mouth. It seemed like Ali hadn't forgotten anything about kissing Emily either.

The kiss lasted forever. It was becoming deep and aggressive. Emily felt transported, consumed. Like maybe Ali had been right, that she had become "something else", something else that Ali made her.

Emily shifted her tongue against Alison's, pushing it back into her mouth, pushing Alison bodily across the stairs and back into the brick wall. Emily caught her lips half gasp and bit her bottom lip until Ali closed her mouth around hers and bit back.

"Fuck," Emily said in both pain and pleasure, pulling away. It all felt good, too good. She felt overpowered by the drug, by Alison.

Alison wrapped a hand around her neck, forcing her back towards her lips.

"Should we go back—?" Emily started, not quite sure how she was going to finish. Back inside? Back to the apartment?

Ali seemed to come to herself then, opening her eyes.

"I want to—" she stuttered in response. "Can we—?"

But then she seemed to make a decision, taking Emily's hand. She pulled her down the stairs and back inside. Through the crowd, past the dance floor, through the back door behind the stage, and back up to the apartment. Emily followed her, watched Alison lock the door. Once it was done, Ali leaned against it, biting her lip.

Emily closed the distance between them, her hands already back on the blonde's hips. She kissed her hard, pushing the material of her dress up her legs, bunching it around her upper thighs. Ali made a noise in the back of her throat, reaching up and removing Emily's hat, tossing it blindly into the living room behind them.

"Take this off," she said breathlessly, grasping at the wig.

Emily helped her remove it, tossing it on the floor.

"You too," Emily panted, angling Ali towards the guest bathroom as they continued to kiss.

Emily wanted the wig off immediately. She didn't like kissing this weird version of Alison. Earlier, she thought she'd liked it precisely _because_ Ali didn't look like herself, like the villain who had tortured her. But right now, she wanted to kiss real Ali. The wig made her less herself, less beautiful, which was an affront because Alison was the most beautiful.

It felt strange to admit that to herself, Emily thought as the bathroom door banged open behind them. Obviously she thought she was beautiful because her tongue was down her throat, but she'd never allowed herself to really admit it. That Alison, even with the scarring, was the prettiest girl Emily had ever met. Even prettier than her sister. Scary, sure, like a hurricane or a flaming comet, but absolutely gorgeous. Emily had always felt ashamed to think that before, to think that about "A." She'd judged herself. But she didn't judge herself now. She could accept it.

She blindly moved to switch the light on as they fumbled in the darkness. Once she found it, she pressed Alison's back against the sink, lips still dancing over hers, while her hands carefully peeled away Ali's wig. It was glued in places, so she had to pull back to see what she was doing, making sure not to pull too hard.

Alison watched her, pupils large in the white light, as Emily worked around her hairline. When she finally tugged it free, Emily noticed a cap underneath. She cast that aside, too, revealing Ali's gorgeous blonde hair. She touched it lightly, grazing her fingers over the soft texture, before she began pulling several of the bobby pins out.

As she did, Ali began to softly kiss the corner of her mouth, her cheek, her jaw. Her fingers worked the muscles in Emily's neck while she slowly spun them around so that Emily's back was against the sink instead.

"Sit up here," Ali instructed, patting the counter with her hand.

Emily complied easily, feeling like she was in a dream. She jumped up and scooted backwards against the cold counter top, still removing the bobby pins from Ali's hair. It was almost fully loose now, hanging in curls by her face, on her shoulders. Emily became distracted repeatedly running her hands through it. She couldn't get enough of the sensation.

"Spread your legs," Ali husked, pressing a fingertip to her knee.

As she did so, Alison stepped between them, running her hands up Emily's thighs, over the jeans. They paused just above the waistline, where Emily's stomach was exposed. Then, they moved up and under Emily's shirt, and Ali kissed her again.

Emily groaned, moving one hand to grasp Ali's shoulder hard. She felt Alison unclasp her bra, reach up into her sleeves to pull the straps over her arms. Once free, she threw it to the side, moving her lips to Emily's neck.

Emily touched her hair, her cheek, her jaw. She was soft, like fleece or worn cotton. Emily felt pliant under her touch, like clay. She realized Ali was rocking her hips slowly, tantalizingly, into her spread legs, as she nipped and licked behind her ear. She was creating a rhythm like waves beating against sand.

Even though this drug felt like it was a constant brain turn on, she could feel her body reacting now, too. Like a song building. She felt over eager. She wanted more, more, more. Like she and Ali were like two bright lights, slowly merging. Dazzling and brilliant. Like a flint that Alison was striking, daring her to start to life, to brightly burn.

She pulled Alison back to her mouth, hands at her cheeks. Emily was almost lost in the sensation, letting it wash over her like warm liquid. Drowning in it, it took her a moment to realize that Ali's hands had moved lower, that she was undoing the button of her jeans and unzipping them.

She pulled away, jarred from the moment. Everything felt good, so good, she didn't want to stop. But were they really doing this? Everything seemed surreal, like it wasn't happening to her. It was all a little crazy, wasn't it? Crazy that they had been dancing, crazy that Emily had been shot-gunning Ali smoke, crazy that they were kissing and now undressed. Mind-blowing, but crazy.

"Ali, you don't have to—" Emily started.

"I want to," Ali blurted, interrupting her. "I want you."

Emily opened her mouth to reply, but wasn't sure quite what to say. She felt the same way. Ali only looked at her, eyes deep and soulful.

"Can I keep going?" she asked.

"Okay."

Not breaking eye contact, Alison removed her jeans, pulling each pant leg down to her ankles and slipping the garment off and onto the floor. She pressed her palms up the inside of Emily's calves, to her knees. Ali's hands felt warm, smooth, and viscous. Normally, Emily might've been insecure to be half naked, but right now she felt nothing of the sort. This felt right. Blissful.

Ali looked down at Emily's knee as her hand rolled over it. Emily had a scar there, though it was almost invisible now. Was it the one she had nicked on the table so long ago?

"I remember this," Ali said, confirming Emily's thought. "Do you have any other scars?" she asked, bending over to kiss it.

Just the feeling of her lips on skin set Emily's body alight. She was seriously turned on. And for how long? She didn't know. It was more than just the drugs, too. It had been too long since Emily had been with someone. Her life had been consumed by the Alison DiLaurentis trial, by darkness. So Ali touching her, it was like she was seeing and feeling the sun for the first time after a century of sleep. She was waking up.

Emily only just registered her question as Ali continued to run her hands up and down her thighs.

"Yes," she answered fuzzily.

"Where?" Ali asked. "Oh, here's one."

Ali lifted Emily's leg, inspecting a long scar, now faded but still white on Emily's shin. She softly ran her fingertips over it.

"I slipped," Emily explained. "And skinned it against the pool side."

"Ouch," Ali said kissing it, too. Her tongue darted out this time. Watching her do it made Emily clench.

She didn't pull away after, continuing a path of kisses back up to Emily's knees. Emily leaned back on her hands, her eyes closing.

"I have another one," she breathed as Ali made her way towards her inner thigh. She gasped slightly when she felt her teeth there. "On my elbow."

"Mhm," Ali hummed, pressing her thumbs into her flesh, working her tongue up higher.

"And another—uhhh—" she started, but couldn't finish as Alison cupped her underwear, her mouth even closer to _that_ spot.

Ali looked up then, locking eyes with Emily. She stood up on her toes to reach Emily's lips. But instead of kissing her, she wrapped her other hand around one leg and pulled her closer to the counter's edge. Then, she pinched the material of her underwear between her fingers and tugged down.

They were down and off before Emily could catch a breath. Alison leaned back up to her, running her hands over her stomach.

"Wrap your legs around me," she rasped, looking carnal and focused.

Emily did so and Alison's hands snaked up under her shirt, past her sides, her ribs. Emily was pulling her lips back towards hers when she felt her hands take each of her breasts, massaging her nipples to rough points.

Emily moaned into her mouth. Ali bit her lip slightly as she did it. Then, she pulled away, drawing her hands back towards Emily's hips, dipping her head low to kiss her stomach.

Emily watched her, enthralled. Was Ali about to do what it looked like? The muscles in Emily's stomach quivered. She could feel her arousal throbbing, as loud and intense as the beat of the music downstairs.

"Lean back," Ali said.

Emily did, but she couldn't move her eyes away from the blonde as her tongue went lower, moved sensually, drew a line from her stomach to her hip bone. Her thighs tightened around Ali's back as she continued her descent, a heel hooking into her ribs.

Finally, she dipped down before Emily had entirely prepared herself, her tongue touching wet skin, licking, flicking, unselfconscious and firm. Emily cried out, loud and uninhibited, when Ali grazed her clit. Ali caught the hint and worried the spot specifically with her lips. Emily felt like she was melting, that she was gathering warm and wet like steam, rising into Alison's mouth.

Alison continued, relentless, not stopping until she founda particularly good angle, an angle that forced Emily to writhe and squirm. Emily couldn't think at all. She tugged Ali's blonde hair a little too hard, and she was moaning louder, much louder. She wasn't sure if she'd ever made this much noise or felt this good. Was it just the drugs? Or was it because she'd imagined this before, that she'd had an exact fantasy like this with Alison?

Sensing she was on the edge, one of Ali's hands wound back up under Emily's shirt, wrapping around a breast, pinching a nipple.

"Fuck," Emily said, feeling light-headed. She opened her eyes, they'd been screwed closed. She watched Ali work.

Ali glanced up, catching her gaze. The look she gave Emily as her tongue flicked quickly was pure seduction. Emily couldn't take it, she pulled her face up, back towards her mouth. She wanted to kiss her. Alison allowed it, though it was messy, sloppy, entirely uncoordinated on Emily's part. While they kissed, Emily breathing hard, Alison replaced her tongue with a finger. Then, Emily felt her slip inside.

"Alison," she said, rocking her hips into her palm. This felt divine. Emily was hot, shaky, and dripping. Alison was all around her, about her, inside her.

And, then, all in an instant, she came. It rolled over her like a summer storm. It was the best she'd ever felt, the only thing she ever wanted to feel again.

It took a long time to pass. Or maybe it didn't take any time. All she knew was Alison held her before pulling out, licking the length of Emily's neck, tasting the salt on her skin.

"How was it?" she whispered, silky smooth in Emily's ear. "You taste how you smell."

But Emily didn't have words.

She slid off the counter top, feeling ungrounded, like she couldn't quite remember how to operate her limbs. She wrapped her arms around Alison's back, pulling at the hem of her dress, lifting it over her head. When it was gone, she picked Ali up despite her aching, sore muscles. She walked her into the bedroom.

After she laid her on the bed, Emily pushed her lips into Ali's. She felt her breath rise and shutter into her mouth. Emily swallowed her shaking lips. As they kissed, Emily on top of her, Ali's reaction was making Emily weak. Kissing was everything.

"How did you know what to do?" Emily asked while she pulled away to remove her bra.

"I've been in jail for six months, Emily," Ali replied easily.

Emily laughed, nipping at her shoulder.

"Prison romance?"

"Girls talk," she said with a gasp, distracted by the fact that Emily's hand slid her hand down her ribs and stomach, sinking beneath her panties and into the place between her legs.

She made small circles with the pad of her index finger. Alison was ready. She immediately bucked into her, making sounds Emily had never thought she'd know. She whimpered with each circle. She cried out with each press. Emily touched her like she'd been wanting to touch her forever. She eased her legs apart, settling between them, feeling the heat, the wetness. She adjusted a thigh over her hip so she could squeeze in close, press breasts and stomachs together.

She pulled back when Ali began to shake. She looked into her eyes, which were strange; darker and deeper than normal. When she slipped inside her and began moving, they turned molten. Alison wrapped her hands around Emily's neck and continued to stare back, sometimes biting her lip, sometimes moaning. Emily had never felt closer to anyone, ever.

When Ali came, she didn't make as much noise as Emily, but she seized, froze. Inside her, Emily could feel her muscles spasming and compressing. She kissed her mouth, licked her lip, nuzzled her shoulder. She could do this all night, all day. She never wanted this high to end.

 **Well, what did you think? Ali POV next!**


	8. Alison's Interlude

**A/N:** I loved all of your responses to the last chapter, I'm glad you liked it! This update will shed more light on Ali's internal thoughts and motivations, so please let me know what you think. There's a lot going on!

* * *

 ** _Alison._**

Whether people love me or hate me, almost everyone thinks they know me. They think I'm unhinged, unstable, or crazy. If not, then they think I'm miscast, misunderstood, or misdrawn. The pawn of a deranged young man. The product of two vain and neglectful parents. Just born evil.

Or they hardly think of me at all. Just a pretty face, a mysterious object, something to look at as they pass my picture in the newspaper.

And maybe they're not so far off. Maybe I'm all of those things. Mysterious, misunderstood, crazy. I'm okay with that, even the last one. It used to piss me off when people said it, but no longer. If the mental hospital taught me anything, it's that everyone is a _little_ crazy. Especially under the right circumstances.

Apply a little pressure here, give a little extra push there, and people became unrecognizable, even to themselves.

But no one believes that. Whenever people learn about a crime spree or read about a killer online, they lie to themselves thinking that, no, they would never do something like that. They're different, better. They'd never cross the line. But they're wrong. They would do it. Every nasty, disgusting, appalling thing. People will do a lot to survive. Even kill.

Because it's not like killing someone is so easy. It's not something you seek out. It's hard work, both in the planning and execution. Nothing ever goes right. No one ever told me it was a skill, how people fight and claw to survive, how they beg. It's not enjoyable. It's not golf on a sunny day, iced tea on the patio.

But, despite that, the Ali-haters think I like it. Like it was some sort of long term plan I had. As if it didn't just happen to me, like I didn't suddenly find myself on the edge of a hole, my sister at the bottom.

Just a little push.

Plus, killing someone is unseemly. It's dirty. A mess to clean up. It doesn't fulfill some sort of deep inner need. I don't select victims with a smile on my face, a glint in my eye. Most times, it's difficult. Most times, it's a last resort. Then, it's like cutting out a rotten piece of fruit or pruning a wayward bush. Removal.

It's not that I want people to die. It's just that they have to.

And is that so wrong? No one understands how humans are natural born killers. Descendants of long lines steeped in murderers. How each person crushes living things underfoot with the very footsteps they take. People act like killing is against who they are rather than _exactly_ who they are.

They're wrong. Or they're lying to themselves. Maybe they feel guilty that killing comes so easily. I don't. I know who I am, and I know who they're not.

If I hadn't killed the people I killed, they would've killed me. Instead, I sidestepped that fate. Eschewed it firmly. I'd always been bound for great things, for glory, and no one was going to knock me off.

I should've been captain of the field hockey team. I should've graduated with honors, gone to an Ivy League. I would've been class president there, studied law. Maybe I would've been a great politician, too. Maybe even the fucking president.

No one would've said anything was wrong with me then.

Instead, here I am, a convict on the run, a captive, brushing a soft strand of my captor's hair out of her face as she sleeps. If I'd given up, just rolled over and died when life had handed me a few lemons, Emily and I wouldn't have even known each other. And what a loss what would've been. Emily would've fallen tragically into some vanilla, boring life, into some sort of suburban girl wet dream. Swimming at Stanford. Majoring in marine biology, maybe even physical science. She would've gotten a house with a white picket fence and a weathervane. She would still be naïve, weak, prone to crying. She'd still be mooning over Courtney, probably still even in the closet. Meanwhile, I'd be drooling in a cage somewhere, a mental hospital, a prison, or dead.

But I chose a better life for both of us. I became stronger, and then I made Emily stronger. That's called alignment. Unity.

I frame the hair around Emily's jaw, looking at her closely, intently, the way I used to look at her. The way I'd watched her on tapes, videos, and in photos. I like her like this. Sleeping. In person and awake, Emily shifts constantly, always hiding, always dodging. Like a rare bird that is hard to photograph.

I hate it.

It irritates me. It disrupts my ritual and routine. I've developed a kind of intimacy with Emily that was born from stalking her so closely. I've watched Emily for so long and so hard, sometimes the look of her seems ingrained in my retinas. I could paint a portrait of her with my eyes closed.

Plus, Emily makes different faces when she thinks she isn't being watched. She frowns, she rolls her eyes, she crosses her arms. She even holds herself differently. Sometimes fragile, like a dying leaf barely holding on in an autumn wind. Sometimes chin high, as if about to take the stage for a final bow. I can even tell when she's thinking of a crush, on a walk to school, in the park, waiting for her parents. She smiles, a hidden kind of smile, a kind that dips in the corner of her mouth.

It used to infuriate me when I saw it.

I used to hate that I knew all of these faces, these looks, hated that I knew the nakedness of Emily. I've read thousands of her texts and emails. I've listened to hundreds of her phone calls and conversations. I know the way she talks, the way she writes, the way she laughs, the way she cries. I used to hate that of all the people in the world, I had to be an expert on _wispy, puny, weak Emily Fields._

Nick would notice sometimes, even as self-obsessed as he was, and make comments.

"You're worse to her," he'd say. But not in an impressed way, the kind of tone I liked to hear from him. In a vaguely cautious way, in a thinly veiled jealousy.

"She loved my sister," I'd say easily in return.

"So?"

But I couldn't explain it. Not that he needed to understand, the lackey that he was. Why did he need to know why Emily was my favorite to hurt? He had never watched her with Courtney. He had never seen that secret smile. I'd wanted to crush that smile.

And, more and more, I'd wanted to crush Nick, too. He kept questioning. He thought he was in charge. There was always a plan, even in the back of my mind, to frame him. He was winter weight I needed to shed. Especially when Emily had overpowered him. Emily had pushed Nick and he fell like a sack of flour. Like he was weightless, like he was made of absolutely nothing.

And he was.

Weakness isn't attractive. Strength is. Like Emily when she'd been the only one in that room willing to fight for her life.

I'd lifted my gas mask, and I'd seen something in her. A power I wanted to tease out. A mutual recognition. Our common denominator. Maybe we weren't so different, after all. Maybe that's why I hated her. We were connected. Interwoven. Inseparable. Emily refused to die, too, just like me.

Now, I don't hate her anymore. Now, Emily is special. A coin minted incorrectly, a defect more beautiful than the original. I've decided to keep her. Or play with her longer, what's the difference, really?

I still watch her sleep, my fingertips grazing her cheek. I can see her pulse thumping slow, steady, through the thin skin of her neck. I've watched Emily sleep more times than I can count, and each time, Emily gets more attractive. Hers is a face you can't smother. No baby fat, chiseled cheeks, lean, pursed lips. She's going to be one of those people that only gets hotter with age.

She really is such a pretty little liar.

I'd originally come into the room to give her clothes, clothes I picked out specifically to make her uncomfortable. Maybe I wanted to see her stomach, too. But when I foundhersleeping, I put them on the end of bed instead. I don't leave. I linger. I come around to the side to get a closer look. I touch her cheek, caress her hair. I think about how I want to lie next to her, no, _curl_ into her, wrap her arms around her waist. Like in the cabin. Fall asleep with my nose tucked into her neck, my lips in the crease of her shoulder.

Emily probably wouldn't even notice, she's sleeping so hard. I actually think about doing it.

But then I force those thoughts away, close my eyes briefly. I call back the old hatred, it's never very far.

 _Emily tried to destroy you_ , I tell myself. _Emily wants you gone. She's the copycat._

Of that much, I'm sure. Emily is definitely the one who's been sending me the threatening messages, killing girls, killing Ali-cats. She needs to be punished. She's forcing my hand. I'm not going to like what I have to do next. I wish Emily would just tell the truth, save me the energy.

"Do you ever think—" I whisper to Emily, but I catch myself. Should I say this out loud? Maybe quietly.

So, I bend close to Emily's ear and hold my breath.

"Do you ever think we're meant to be together?" I say, light as a summer breeze.

* * *

 _ **Earlier that night.**_

Alison softly closed the door to Emily's room, moving back into the living area. CeCe glanced up at her, in the middle of preparing a drink, while Alison made her way over to the TV. She switched it on and began to search for news of her and Emily.

"You should be able to find something," CeCe suggested from the kitchen. "You two have practically been on every channel."

"How did I look?" Ali asked, indulging her vanity. She hoped they'd used the recent photo, where her scars weren't as bad.

"Cute as a button, of course," CeCe simpered.

Ali smiled at her and decided to pause on FOX, finding nothing on their story after flipping around a few stations. Surely something will come on eventually.

"Come on," CeCe prompted from behind her. "Let's do your wig while we wait."

Ali turned to face the main table, dropping the remote onto it with a clatter. She slumped into a chair. She frowned. She'd wanted it to be right there, on the first channel she checked. This was a big fucking deal. She'd been _abducted_ , for Christ's sake. What if things blew over? What if she was forgotten? Like Courtney. Lost in a hole.

She picked hard at a nail.

"What have you heard about it so far?" she asked CeCe, eager to be assuaged.

CeCe had picked up a black wig, holding it in front of Alison for approval. Ali nodded. She placed it back down and grabbed a box of bobby pins.

"Just that she abducted you in the hospital, pretended to be a nurse, and crashed her car into the river."

She began to pin Ali's hair back, pulling it away from her face.

"Did that hurt?" she asked with questioning, albeit rather entertained eyes. CeCe did love drama.

"Emily had to cut me out of my seatbelt," Ali told her. "I would've died."

CeCe lifted her eyebrows as if to say 'wow' before resuming her work.

"Well, they certainly thought you two were dead," she continued. "Until they found that stolen truck. Not sure if they've traced you to Philly yet."

"Have they said anything about Emily being the copycat?" Ali asked, really the only thing she's interested in.

CeCe pinned another strand back without looking at her.

"They've alluded to it."

"She is, you know," Ali said with conviction, watching the blues of CeCe's irises. "She is the copycat."

CeCe didn't look back at her, uncertain, a bobby pin between her teeth. She removed it and tucked it into another strand on the top of Ali's head.

"Why do you think she's involved?" she asked. "Couldn't Paige be acting alone?"

" _And could it be more than that?"_ Ali heard in the background. Her attention snapped to the television, CeCe's question momentarily forgotten.

" _Could it be obsession? Could it be love? While we know the suspect has vehemently denied any such romantic ties,"_ the female newscaster trilled. _"After recent events, we can't exactly trust her."_

The newscaster looked away, as if they were about to cut.

 _Goddamit_ , Ali thought. _They're going to play the fucking clip._

And then, there it was. Emily shouting "I will never love you!" at the top of her lungs in that dingy, destroyed little cabin. Ali picked up the remote and slammed the power button off before it could continue. Sometimes she wished she hadn't killed Jordan, just so she would never have to see that clip.

CeCe watched her patiently, waiting out her tantrum. Then, she said nothing.

Smart girl.

"You didn't see those pictures she gave me," Ali answered, remembering the thread of their conversation. "Paige couldn't possibly know any of that."

Paige. Ali didn't like her. Ali hadn't even known who she was until she'd pretended to be part of her legal team, had gotten Alison alone in a private conference room at the jail. Frankly, she'd been a little worried that Paige was going to kill her, but she hadn't called out because she was, well… curious.

Then, Paige had handed her an envelope. Photos of the crime scene. Messages from the copycat. Her curiosity piqued.

"Plus," Ali added. "She's too stupid."

"She was smart enough to get into a courthouse," CeCe pointed out. "What if you're underestimating her?"

Ali wasn't underestimating Paige. A waif like that? A killer?

"They're working together. It's Emily," Ali stated with certainty.

She was sure. Why? Because like Alison, Emily understood revenge. Emily had fallen apart when Ali's trial started looking hopeful. Plus, Ali remembered the look on her face when she'd caught her. Emily thought it was over. She thought she'd have a life.

And, then… there was Jordan. The beloved girlfriend Ali had offed. Jordan put up a fight when she was getting jumped in prison, what did she think was going to happen? Ali had only wanted her roughed up. She'd wanted her to stop talking to Emily. Her death was an accident.

Albeit, a happy one.

But Emily wasn't happy. That was when she'd recorded that wheels off video.

"She's the _only one_ who would try this hard to make me pay," Ali argued. "She's the _only one_ who'd write 'I know you dug her grave, now I'm digging yours' in some poor girl's blood."

"Paige could've found out about that."

"It had never been publicized," Ali explained. "The police didn't even know, so how could Paige?"

Ali paused, picking at the nail again.

"What I don't get is why she would do this when you said she was a big fan of mine. Isn't she supposed to be an Ali-cat?"

CeCe merely shrugged and finished pinning most of Ali's hair up. She picked up a wig cap.

"It's not looking like it," she said. "What're we going to do about it now?"

Ali toyed with a bobby pin between her fingers.

"I think we should kill her," she said. "And frame Emily for it. Stage it like the copycat. Call the cops in the morning."

"I like," CeCe said with a wicked smile. "Two birds, one stone. Efficient."

Ali knew she'd like it. They're similar after all. Even related. They grew up together, and CeCe had been one of the only people who'd believed her about the switch with Courtney. CeCe was 16 at the time and had already been ostracized by her family. They didn't like that their little boy, Charles, was a little girl, Charlotte. So, she'd had no means of helping Alison. But she'd still written her letters. Visited occasionally when she could. They always had fun. It was nice that CeCe cared.

CeCe fit the cap snugly behind her ears, at the base of her neck.

"Can you take care of Paige?" Ali asked, glancing up at her.

CeCe lifted an eyebrow.

"What're you going to be doing?"

"Distracting Emily," she answered. "She's not going to let me out of her sight once she wakes up."

"Can't we just distract Emily with torture?" CeCe joked. Ali guessed only partially.

"The cops would see that," she replied, humoring her. "It has to be subtle."

While Ali was excited about Emily's radical departure from her formal self, she was still worried about what Emily had in store. What was her plan? Ali needed to stop her before things got messy. Not kill her, just stop her. Reassert control. Ali would put her in prison, where Emily tried to put her. Then she'd visit, their fingers close, but not quite touching, across a cold metal table.

"If she just confessed," Ali said out loud. "That would make things easier."

Then, Ali could convince her to forgive her. Then, maybe they could work _together_.

"What about drugging her?" CeCe questioned, setting the black wig on Ali's head.

"With what? A Truth serum?"

"No, but…" CeCe trailed off, beginning to blend Ali's scalp with the wig. "If she was on drugs, it would make it look even better. Like maybe she got jacked up before committing all her crimes. She might confess, too."

"Which drugs do you have?"

"I have LSD, acid, MDMA—"

"MDMA?" Ali interjects.

"Yeah," CeCe said distractedly, making an annoyed face at Ali's hairline. "Pure MDMA, too. I almost want to save it for myself."

"What's MDMA?"

"Ecstasy, Molly, whatever you kids are calling it these days."

"You think that would work?" Ali asked, intrigued.

CeCe shrugged again.

"You talk your ass off when you're rolling on X, but I don't think the cops would think she'd murder anyone."

"Well, they might not test her blood for that."

"Then why would you give it to her?"

Good question. Would Emily tell Ali what she'd done if she's on ecstasy?

"She'd talk, even to me?"

"She'd be more trusting," CeCe acquiesced.

"She might confess," Ali said with a slight smile.

"She might not, though, if she thinks something is up."

"Well," Ali stated, still smiling, clapping her hands together in her lap. "What if I took it, too?"

"Maybe," CeCe replies uncertainly.

Ali watched her concentrate on the wig, now blending at the side of her face.

"Is she going to be touchy?" Ali asked. "She cringes when I touch her now."

CeCe glanced away from her work to shoot Alison a skeptical gaze.

"Is that a pro?"

"It's not a con," Ali replied, feeling annoyed at the question.

She felt the urge to hide something, though she wasn't sure what. She wanted to convince CeCe that she only kept Emily alive to torture her. She hadn't told CeCe about the cabin. About being naked with Emily. CeCe wouldn't understand that was torture to Emily. Nothing more.

She paused for a moment while CeCe continued. Then, deliberately, she asked, "What's sex like on X?"

"Mind-blowing," CeCe sighed, as if revisiting a wonderful memory.

"But I don't know why you even need to do this," she continued, pausing with the wig. "You don't need a confession, you're not recording her. Just distract her, we'll plant the body, the evidence, call the police, and poof, it's done. Pigskin is taken care of and Pocahontas is serving a life sentence."

"No," Alison argued, suddenly feeling resolute. This was her plan. This was what they were going to do. "I like the idea of drugging her. She already doesn't trust you, I'm barely keeping her here as it is."

"We'll tell her to come watch the show, and then she'll get drunk and enjoy the club," CeCe pestered back. "I don't see the problem."

"She'll come right back up here, looking for you, after one drink. She's not stupid."

But CeCe wasn't impressed. And honestly she didn't even look that convinced.

"You just want to fuck her," she accused. "You can tell me the truth."

"I don't want to fuck her," Alison answered, suddenly hot. "I just want to fuck _with_ her."

"I don't see how you're fucking with her by giving her the best night of her life on X," CeCe said with another withering sigh, attention back on the wig.

God, CeCe just didn't get it.

 _Doesn't everyone deserve a last supper?_ Alison thought. A grand meal before their death? In this case, Emily's death was metaphorical. She'd be in prison, born anew.

"It's fucking with her because it'll kill her that she spent her last night of freedom with me, wanting me," Alison explained with an unkind smile.

"Didn't you already torture this girl for years?" CeCe asked flippantly, grabbing a brush. "Send her decapitated rats and shit?"

Ali bristled. CeCe didn't understand her vision. Her genius. Sometimes she wondered if Emily was the only one who _really_ knew her, how fucking clever she was. For instance, Emily would know _exactly_ what Alison had done come morning.

"I didn't send her _rats_ , CeCe," Ali said with a shake of her new wig. "You don't understand."

CeCe took a step back, assessing her with a mocking smile.

"You really think you're going to hook up with her?"

Ali shrugged nonchalantly.

"Please," she protested. "You wouldn't even know what to do with a vagina."

"I've done my research," Ali replied through gritted teeth.

"Oh yeah? What kind of 'research' is that?" CeCe challenged with a small laugh. "And don't tell me it was hands on in jail. You can spare me the details."

Alison struggled not to fume at her cousin. She wasn't 'hands on' in jail. But she did ask someone. A self-proclaimed lesbian. Her last name was Harvey, Ali didn't know her first name. But the girl did love to take showers.

" _What's it like?"_ she'd asked one day while they were both bored at lunch _._ Ali had played it casual even though the question had been on her mind for some time.

" _What's what like?"_ Harvey had asked back, eyes flicking to Alison.

" _Being with a girl."_

Harvey smiled.

" _Curious?"_ she asked teasingly, pushing peas around her plate.

" _Maybe,"_ Ali replied coyly.

" _So, the rumors are true about you and that Fields girl?"_

" _Maybe,"_ Ali hadsaid again, licking her spoon. Harvey watched her closely, it was fun to fuck with her.

" _Well,"_ she said, clearing her throat. " _It's the best you'll ever have."_

" _Why?"_

" _Girls just know each other's bodies."_

Then, Ali had asked how they knew each other's body. How _exactly_. Like directions. Not too detailed, though, she didn't want that Harvey girl to get the wrong idea. She didn't want her, she only wanted information. Harvey had too much of a pixie haircut. She was too butch. She wasn't like Emily.

CeCe bent over, disturbing Alison's reverie, touching up her bangs. She briefly locked eyes with her and paused.

"Is this because she said she'd never love you? And they played it on TV for the whole world to see?"

Ali glared.

CeCe merely smirked slightly, and stood back up. "So, yes."

Ali said nothing, even though she wanted to say everything. She wanted to say that yes, this was because Emily thought she didn't love Alison. Yes, this was because Emily embarrassed her on a national stage. Everyone loved Alison, even Emily, and if drugging her with ecstasy would bring that out, then Alison was all for it.

CeCe brushed through her hair a few times more before she crossed back towards the kitchen, opening a drawer. She pulled out a small bag out and returned, but she didn't hand it to Ali, even when Ali reached for it.

"Look, Ali," she said with resignation. "I can give you the X. But it's pure, no coke or heroin in there. It's different, and you've never done it before. I'm worried you'll be a little out of your league."

"Why would _I_ be out of my league?" Ali replied haughtily, still a little pissy with CeCe for her earlier comment.

"You're just going to feel—you're going to feel really happy."

"I know what it's like to be happy, C," Ali grumbled with an eye roll.

"Not like this you don't," CeCe answered, holding her ground.

Ali switched tactics.

"Are you trying to talk me out of it or into it? Because it's sounding more and more fun."

"It is fun," CeCe agreed. "And most of the time, it's harmless. But with Emily…"

"What about with Emily?"

CeCe gave her another serious and appraising glance.

"I can handle Emily," Ali argued. "I just want to have a little fun, is that too much to ask?"

Ali had gone through a lot, after all. She'd been locked away, burned, broken, beaten, and arrested. She'd murdered, run away, stolen, manipulated, and lied. She'd never been normal. She'd never had a fun, wild night. And if she can fuck with Emily in the process, too, why not? Can't CeCe just let her have this one thing?

She insisted again with her open hand.

"I'll be fine," she assured CeCe.

CeCe relented, dropping the bag into her hand.

"You're already fine, doll," she said, playing with a strand of the wig. "You just need to be careful."

* * *

 ** _Alison._**

CeCe had been right.

I'd been wrong.

I bit off more than I could chew. Oh, the plans I'd had. The things I'd thought. The second the ecstasy kicked in, after I'd made that scene in front of Paige, everything had become clear. I did want to fuck Emily. And more than that, I wanted to smell and taste and touch her. Like a drink. I wanted to drink her up.

I had to find her.

It occurred to me while I looked for Emily that I didn't know what I was doing. Or that I'd tried to tell myself I knew, but I didn't. I'd thought I was taunting Emily, teasing her, breaking her down. After all, the whole plan was to make Emily want me and then to destroy her with that want. But I'd underestimated how much I wanted Emily. And how much it was destroying me in return.

When I saw her on the dance floor, I wanted to kiss her. Hard. I wanted to lick her up and down, and I didn't need a reason why. I didn't need to qualify it, no justification. With the drugs, everything was so obvious. I liked Emily. I'd liked her... for ages. Since the gas chamber. Maybe earlier? Sure, Emily had played a crucial role in ruining my life, but I could move beyond that. We'd become something more than the sum of our parts.

We'd transcend.

When I saw her, there was a voice in my head. _Touch her_ , it said. _Tell her everything_ , it said. _She'll understand. She'll forgive you. She knows you better than anyone. The real you. The side no one has seen, the side no one remembers. The you before you were marred, destroyed, ruined. The you you could've been, the you that you wanted to be._

No one in this world could claim that. Not Nick, not my parents, not CeCe, not anyone. I wanted to bask in that feeling. Roll around in it like a forest meadow. Someone really knew me. Someone really liked me. I wanted to have Emily over and over again, a feeling so powerful I knew I woulddo it or it would destroy me for real.

So, I followed Emily onto the dance floor. I danced with her. It was flattering, nice, the way she looked at me. Normally, I could tell that Emily tried to hide it, bury it down, but she needn't bother. I have an eye for her adoration. I'm a trained specialist. Emily wanting me was just as much a part of her DNA as her eye color, her long swimmer legs. No amount of wanting or wishing or burying could change that.

While we danced, Emily asked about Courtney. I felt a flare of the old jealousy, like a burn, but the drugs quickly soothed it. Emily might've been with other people but they wouldn't compare to me. Not even my twin. Not even on her worst day. Getting rid of those girls was a favor, a service. None of them would've done for Emily what I'd done. I'd made her hard. Clever. Crafty. I'd brought out the best in her. Before she'd always been on the verge of tears. Now, she'd stolen a cop's gun and kidnaps a convict. If that isn't improvement, what is?

Then, I started to touch her. God, it felt good.

It had been easy to lie to myself before. Second nature. It was easy to say that my obsession with Emily was purely revenge-based, incidental to my work. Even survival-based. She was the copycat killer, right? Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. But on ecstasy... different ballgame. My perspective shifted, like a kaleidoscope. It was more than revenge.

So much more.

We were kissing in the stairwell. I was thinking, _how long have I hated myself? Why did I hold onto all of the worst parts of me?_ I'd done terrible things, but they didn't define me. It was the past. I could change. I could relate to people, I could relate to Emily, I could forgive. It was like the drugs had done brain surgery on me.

I felt light, free, happy, unburdened. I was flying.

Then, I had Emily on that countertop and I knew that I could keep going, that Emily wouldn't want to stop now. That finally she didn't flinch under my touch. Her body, her lips, her hair, her thighs, everything was for me. It felt right.

"I want you," I said.

I'd wanted her ever since I'd read Courtney's diary. When I'd pretended to be her, the way Emily looked at me, the way she acted, I'd wanted it to be real. Why hadn't I seen that before? It was so clear now.

Everything was connected, universally. For once, I felt compassion. I realized that I was a treasure. And so was Emily. I actually looked her in the eye when they had sex. I'ds never done that before. With anyone.

* * *

Ali opened her eyes.  
What.

The.

Fuck.

She ripped the sheets off of herself and looked at Emily. She was naked. Ali was naked. They were in bed.

Fuck.

Alison pulled a sheet with her, crossing the room to the bathroom. She needed light. She needed to prove that what happened… actually happened.

The light came on, and it felt blinding. It confirmed her worst fears. It had definitely happened.

Alison peeked back through the door. Emily hadn't woken up when she'd pulled the sheet away. She still slept soundly under the comforter, a hand touching the empty spot Alison's body had just occupied.

Alison ran the water, pressed her face under it. She worked her hands repeatedly over her forehead, her cheeks, her mouth. Memories, unbidden, of the way Emily held her sprang into her mind. She held Alison like something precious. Close. Emily, the fractured thing she broke, did that.

She wanted to throw up. She felt terrible. The worst. She couldn't believe what she'd done. What the fuck had she been thinking? She'd annihilated her plan, everything she'd been working toward. For years. Emily was the copycat! Ali was supposed to get rid of her! Play with her! And now this? It wasn't so much that they'd slept together, as that had been vaguely part of her plan, it was all the goddamn things Ali had said to her.

She'd said she was sorry! She wasn't fucking sorry! She had fucking looked at Emily during sex, too. During. What the fuck!

She wanted to rub Emily off of her like mud, sterilize herself from Emily like she was a contagious disease. But thanks to ecstasy, what was learned could not be unlearned. What was done could not be undone.

It felt like Emily had killed her. Alison had been a fucking Avenger. She'd been a vigilante. A super hero. A genius. Now she was vulnerable, wide open, exposed. She was something lesser than Alison DiLaurentis. She was something worse.

What the fuck had she been thinking?

Jesus Christ.

Her plan.

She pulled her face away from the water in a panic. The plan to kill Paige and blame it on Emily. Did CeCe already do it?

She looked at Emily through the open door again. Could she turn Emily in? Ali owned her now. Emily was hers. Ali wanted to do what she did to Emily every day, all day. How was she supposed to bear her going away to prison? She couldn't do that, she'd die.

She moved back into the room. She needed to tell CeCe, maybe it wasn't too late. But when she opened the door, standing there with only a sheet to cover herself, she saw blood. Everywhere.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:** I'm so sorry this update took so long. With the holidays, I had a hard time finding time to write! But the next chapter is mostly written, so the next update will be shortly after this one. With an M-rated scene! Let me know what you think about Emily's shift in attitude and rules below!

* * *

Emily was dreaming. There were loud noises, bright colors. She wasn't sure if she was happy or sad. She wasn't sure where she was. But slowly, a shadow slipped over the dream, like a dark raincloud moving in, dampening the summer sun. Hands took hold of her shoulders, jarring her, forcing the dream away.

"Emily," an insistent voice said while shaking her hard. "Wake up."

It was a voice Emily knew, a voice that plagued her. It was higher than usual though, pitched and scared.

"Wha—Ali?" Emily questioned, her mind clouded with confusion. She could sleep for another hundred years, why was Ali waking her up now?

She opened her eyes. It felt more like a crack, a tear. They were not ready to be open, so the air stung. Everything felt bloodshot and scratchy. All Emily could focus on in the darkness was a sliver of Ali's golden blonde hair curling a frame around her bright blue eyes.

"You need to get up," she hissed snakelike into the darkness, nose near to Emily's. "We need to go. Right now."

Emily merely blinked at her, still unsure if this was even real. She didn't recognize the room, and Ali was dead.

No. Courtney was dead. Ali was in prison.

No, that wasn't right either… and then she had another memory. One of soft pink lips, a wet lick to the shell of her ear. One of pale hands roaming, looking ghostly white in near darkness. One of legs wrapped around her waist, urging her deeper.

 _No-no-no-no_ , she thought, her eyes widening, tearing further.

That couldn't be real. That was in the dream, right? It wasn't-couldn't-shouldn't be real.

She reached forward, wanting to touch Alison, wanting to confirm her mere existence. Maybe if she wasn't there, just a typical imagining, Emily would know those other memories weren't real either. But when she moved forward, Ali lurched back sharply, avoiding Emily's hand as if her fingers were each hot pokers. Instead, Ali snatched the edge of the sheets and swiftly ripped them away from Emily's body.

"Right _now_ ," she repeated again in a quieted snarl.

Emily sat up frantically, following the sheet, the source of her heat and comfort, but also realizing she was naked in the process, cold air hitting bare skin.

 _Oh my god._

Ali didn't notice her reaction, though. Or she didn't care. She simply turned on her heel and began tearing through each drawer of an ornamental dresser. While Emily watched Ali, a little stunned and extremely confused, she touched her mouth. Her lips were dry. She smelled herself, and she smelled… like Alison. It clung to her everywhere. Her hair, her skin, her hands.

Ali glanced back at her, a black silhouette in the dark.

"Are you deaf, Emily?" she snarked, balling up a black cut off shirt and hurling it at her. "Get dressed!"

Something about hearing her name made Emily surge forward. She took the shirt and confusedly pulled it over her chest, her back. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, only to discover more nakedness. No underwear. No sleep shorts.

"Where are—" she began to ask, her voice raspy with sleep. "Pants?"

Ali looked up impatiently, having found some sort of bag that she was filling with clothes, blankets, who knew what. Emily thought she saw Ali's jaw clench at the unanswered question. Then, Ali nodded jerkily towards a partially opened door, white light emanating from beneath the frame. She didn't say anything though, simply kept packing, eyebrows drawn.

Emily shuffled past her, trying to shield herself, feeling vulnerable and altogether too naked in front of Alison.

"Grab the wigs and the bobby pins," Ali said under her breath, not making eye contact, talking to the dresser for all Emily knew.

Emily wasn't totally sure what she meant, but she opened the door. It was a clean white bathroom. It looked momentarily familiar. She saw a pair of discarded jeans on the floor, and she moved to them, picking them up and dragging them up each of her legs. While she rubbed her eyes, she also picked up two wigs and several bobby pins from the floor. The trail followed to the sink, her eyes falling to the countertop.

" _Spread your legs," Ali husked, pressing a fingertip to her knee._

Then, the confusion cleared. It _all_ came back.

The clothes. The wigs. The clink of the two glasses, ice shifting as Emily swallowed an unknowing mouthful of ecstasy. The club. The lights, Alison's finger tracing the small of her back. The smoke. The railing, Ali's neck arched up, lips parted, eyes closed.

And that was only the beginning, the very tip of a giant, colossal, Titanic-sinking iceberg.

She groaned loudly, slapping her hands to her face, pressing so hard, she hoped she might push every memory directly through her eyes and crush her brain. Anything to stall the images.

Because this was Alison DiLaurentis she'd had sex with. Psycho. Murderer. Liar.

She touched her mouth again, unconsciously. She could still taste her.

"Ughhh," she continued to growl out loud.

She spun on the spot, wigs in hand, her hand wrenching at the doorknob. When she threw it open, Ali was still kneeling, pulling away from the dresser. Emily threw the wigs and the box of bobby pins at her.

"What the FUCK, Alison?" she yelled.

Ali looked up quickly, deflecting the box from hitting her knee, her eyes startled but still somehow aggressive. Emily merely stood there threateningly, breathing hard, waiting for Alison's next move. She had so much she wanted to say, but they were all competing at once to come out, bottlenecking on the tip of her tongue.

Like, why the fuck did Alison drug her? Why did she kiss her? Why did she sleep with her? Why did she wake her up in the middle of the god damn night?

She heaved another ragged breath, staring daggers into Alison's crisp blue eyes, before the blonde broke contact, silently packing the wigs and the bobby pins. Emily's attention suddenly snapped to the bag and to the already dressed Alison. Something wasn't right. Why _did_ Alison say they needed to leave _right_ now?

As if sensing she was on the edge of this thought, Ali's mouth twisted in response.

"Emily—" she started.

But it was too late, Emily was already across the room, palm pushing forward against the door. She heard a scrambling motion behind her, felt a hand wrap around her bicep and yank. Emily resisted it, though, shouldering the door open and surging into the living room.

As she stumbled forward, she thought her eyes were playing tricks on her. She stopped short, and Ali hurtled into her back. But Emily didn't notice. It felt like she'd wandered into some sort of haunted house, not CeCe's living room. And why?

Because there was blood. A lot of it. Everywhere. A splatter on the wall, a dark pool on the floor by the dining table. A smear across the kitchen floor and counter. Like someone had thrown a bucket all over the room and then rolled around in it like a dog with a dead animal.

"Whaaat?" Emily eked out slowly.

While she remembered Ali going down on her, she definitely didn't remember dismembering a body with her after. This was not part of last night.

She turned to the girl in question, her mouth in a hard line, her eyes still burning.

"Alison," she said slowly, through gritted teeth. "Did you do this?"

Ali looked at the scene, and then back at Emily.

"What?" she asked, scandalized. "Of course not. CeCe's my—my," she continued to stutter, but didn't finish.

"She's your what?" Emily asked with hostility, trapping Ali in the doorway.

Ali's look smoldered. They were standing nose to nose.

"Not someone I would kill," she clarified after a heavy pause, her voice smooth but venomous. "And in case you don't remember, I was a little _busy_."

The way she said it with such insinuation and her usual cocked eyebrow made Emily seethe.

"Busy what? Drugging me?"

Ali didn't answer, eyes wandering over Emily's shoulder, taking in the scene.

"And why the sudden need to run?" Emily continued.

"I don't know about you, but I'd rather not stick around the scene of a crime," Ali answered hotly, shouldering Emily hard and moving past her into the room. She headed towards the door, the bag clenched over her shoulder.

"What if this isn't even CeCe's blood?" Emily pressed. "And, if it is, you don't even care what happened to her?"

Alison paused, whipping around to glare. "Of course I care."

Emily laughed aloud at that.

"Funny way of showing it," she countered. "I'm going to look around."

"Don't touch _anything_ ," Alison spat in warning, but Emily ignored her, glancing around the room.

This much blood and no body? It didn't sit right. It even felt oddly reminiscent of one of _Ali's_ staged crime scenes, when Emily was always sure the hammer would drop at any minute. Glancing back at Ali, it was strange to be _with_ her for once, and not wondering where the fuck she'd run off to.

But Ali's eyes weren't trained on her, they were focused on something low and to the right.

"What is that?" she asked, pushing past Emily.

CeCe's wallet sat on the top of the dining room table, a little too conveniently placed, Emily thought. There was even a white envelope next to it, scrawled with large, black printed letters.

 _You_ , it read.

Yes, this definitely reminded her of one of Ali's little games. Emily reached for the envelope while Alison reached for the wallet.

"I thought you said not to touch anything," Emily chastised.

Ali made a growling sound of acknowledgment. Emily shoved the envelope into the back of her jeans while Alison pocketed the wallet and headed for the door.

Emily caught her wrist.

"Shouldn't we look for a body?"

"The cops are probably already here," Alison answered flippantly, trying to free her wrist from Emily's grasp.

"Why?" Emily questioned, voice raised.

"Doesn't this seem a little weird to you?" Ali challenged, raising her voice right back. "Like someone wanted us to find all this?"

It certainly did, but it didn't mean Emily trusted that Alison had nothing to do with it.

"I didn't do this," she reiterated, reading Emily's mind. "And I certainly don't want to be blamed for it. So now can we go?"

Emily wasn't sure what to say, but this all felt rushed, forced, and suspicious. Despite that, she didn't have much of a choice but to follow the blonde out the door, down the long stairs into the club.

Sure enough, as they'd exited through the alley door, there were red, blue, and white lights flashing against the brick wall outside. Alison immediately jerked back, grabbing Emily and pulling her towards the other end.

Emily felt jilted. How were the police already here? Who would've called them? How did Alison know? All this _and_ Emily was still barely awake.

Ali pulled Emily hard by the hand towards the opposite end of the alley. She hoped that the cops didn't know about this entrance to the building. Emily was already breathing hard, her heart racing, and the cold biting at her exposed skin. She didn't even know what she'd do if a cop suddenly showed up, a light shined in her face, a gun raised.

But they rounded the corner and no one came. Emily breathed a sigh of relief before shivering violently. It was dark and bitter cold.

"Did you happen to pack a jacket in that bag?" she asked in a low voice.

Ali didn't respond, though, freezing in place. A man was approaching down the sidewalk, eyes trained on his phone, but legs otherwise a little wobbly. What time was it even? 4 AM?

"Kiss me," Ali whispered.

"No," Emily immediately answered back.

She was close enough to see Ali's eyes narrow. Instead, the blonde pushed her roughly against the wall, hands dipping below her shirt. She breathed hot breaths against her neck, and Emily squirmed inside. How could Ali do this to her? She wasn't her fucking plaything. So, as soon as the man passed by, not once looking up from his phone, Emily pushed her back by the arms.

Ali stumbled slightly, looking extremely irritated before stalking down the street.

"No jacket for you," she said over her shoulder.

"Where are we even fucking going?" Emily balked back at her, jogging to keep up. She rubbed her hands up and down her arms, missing the warmth from the bed.

Ugh. Her and Ali's bed.

"A hotel, any hotel," Ali answered, digging through her bag and plucking the black wig out of it.

* * *

Unfortunately for them, the next hotel they came across had seen better days. Much better days. It was some sort of downtown Econolodge, a brand of hotels Emily didn't think still existed. But, regardless, it looked like the type of grungy, downtrodden place that wouldn't remember their names or faces.

Emily waited around the corner while Ali checked them in, spying a 24 hour convenience store a block away. She was desperate for a drink and a pack of pretzels. She glanced back at Ali, wondering how long it would take to get a room. There wasn't even a lobby, Ali was standing outside, talking to a woman behind bullet-proof looking glass. Emily wondered vaguely how much cash had been left in CeCe's wallet, if it would be enough to cover one night.

Ali shuffled some money through, though, and headed back towards her, not saying a word as she marched towards a room. Of course, their room was only accessible from the outside, no fancy indoor hallways. Ali used the key card and quickly entered room 147, impatiently waiting for Emily to come in before sweeping her eyes distrustfully across the parking lot. It was such a practiced movement, her eyes so alert and focused, that Emily couldn't help but wonder how many dingy hotel rooms Ali had rented. How long she had stayed hidden from everyone. Would she still check parking lots even when she was free?

Emily hoped she'd never be free.

Satisfied with what she saw, Ali closed the door and dead bolted it. Then, she slung the bag onto the floor.

"I'm taking a shower," she announced, grabbing a change of clothes in the bag, not even looking at Emily before slamming the bathroom door closed.

Emily just stood there, still stunned, still confused, still processing. Ali had drugged her. Ali had kissed her. Emily had slept with Ali. Willingly. Then, the blood, the cops, the envelope. She took it out of her pocket, a corner now bent.

 _You_ , it read.

Emily sat on the edge of the bed, fingering the hard edge of the paper. Should she open it now? Should she read it? Was it even for her or was it for Ali? She glanced up to the bathroom door, hearing the water come on with a clang of several old sounding pipes.

She clenched the paper in her hands. Ali was acting weird. Weirder than normal. While they'd walked, looking for a hotel, she'd hardly spoken to Emily, and she'd kept her distance. A sizably physical one. When they'd accidentally brushed hands, Ali had whipped hers away as if Emily might infect her with flesh eating bacteria.

What was her fucking problem?

Was she weirded out by what had happened? Emily could remember it all, too well. She could remember the want in her eyes, the tease of her fingers. Ali couldn't keep her hands _off_ of Emily. And now she couldn't stand to touch her? If it had bothered her so much, then why had she done it? Or was she just upset that some part of the master plan Ali _always_ kept going had gone wrong. But what?

No matter how many times she told herself and no matter how many times she remembered, Emily couldn't believe what she'd done. Alison DiLaurentis, of all people. Ali had stalked Emily and her friends for years. She'd _killed_ Courtney. She'd _killed_ Jordan. And Emily had told her she'd forgiven her? She would _never_ forgive her.

But the memory of that desperate want, that clinched desire was all consuming. Emily had never wanted to acknowledge her attraction to Alison. She'd always ignored it, refuted its very existence at every turn. Even when the other girls called her out. For _years_. But here it was, blown wide and out in the open. And it felt unbearable.

Emily hated that her body had somehow betrayed her to one of her biggest enemies. She'd been confused. No, she'd been high. But most of all, she'd been _wrong_. The sounds Ali had made were sounds Emily never thought she needed to hear.

How was she supposed to forget that? How was she supposed to recover now? Who was she any more?

Emily covered her face with her hands again. It was too much. Everything, from beginning to end. She could, once again, see the headlines.

 _Emily Fields, lunatic, abductor, in love with Alison DiLaurentis after all._

Because isn't that what everyone would think? Isn't that what Alison would tell them? Was this all part of her plan? A long string of her highly calculated moves?

God, it was all so fucked.

When Emily pulled her hands away, though, her eyes fell to the bag that Ali had packed. She reached over to it without thinking. After all, it was open and unzipped. Maybe the contents of this stupid bag could shed some light onto what Ali was even thinking, what she had in store for the two of them

Emily didn't find much at first. Just extra clothes, a blanket, CeCe's wallet. But then her fingers grazed something hard. Two hard somethings. She wrapped her hand around cold metal and pulled.

It was a gun. Black, police issued. The gun from the hospital, the gun Ali said she didn't take, the gun Emily hadn't been able to find when she searched her. And the other hard item? Handcuffs. Ali had kept both of them somehow, through the fall off the bridge, in the water, after the club.

What the fuck? And what had she planned to do with them?

Emily heard the shower clang off as she sat there holding the cuffs and the gun, stunned, surprised, and increasingly angry. More than before, she realized what a set up this had been. All of it. Including the kisses, the sex.

She snatched up a belt from the bag, put the gun in her waist band, and the cuffs in her back pocket. She stood up and crossed to the bathroom door and pulled the handle. It was locked. She banged on the door. There was no answer, so she banged again.

Emily heard the lock change, and the door flew open.

"What?" Ali spat angrily, hair wet, already changed into a fresh t-shirt and shorts.

Emily forced her way inside, until Ali had to take a step back, her back colliding with the sink, her hand catching the edge for leverage.

"Were you trying to frame me?" Emily hotly accused, face close to Ali's.

"What?" Ali said again, although less angry this time and considerably more unnerved.

"Why were the cops there so fast, Ali?" Emily said quickly, her voice shaky with rage. "Who could've seen that apartment? There wasn't blood anywhere else."

Ali didn't say anything, closing her mouth, knuckles whitening on the counter's edge.

"Did it go badly?" Emily continued. "Your plan? The ecstasy not quite what you'd bargained for? First, you thought we'd have sex, then you thought you'd set me up?"

"No—" Alison replied, but Emily cut her off.

"Guess what I found," she said, slipping the gun into her hand. Ali's eyes fell to it immediately, her brow furrowing.

"Remember this?" Emily asked, but Ali didn't answer. She only looked at the barrel of the gun as Emily waved it around in front of her.

A long silence passed as Emily pinned her further against the frame of the counter.

"We're done," she said, "playing by your rules. We've been done. I'm not the same scared little girl you can torture and hurt whenever you feel like it."

Emily reached for Ali's wrists, and Ali resisted slightly. So, Emily promptly switched the safety off with a resounding _click,_ an effective warning.

"Don't fucking move," Emily told her, sliding the cuffs behind Ali's back and cuffing her two hands together. Ali didn't move.

So Emily continued, using the belt to tie Ali's ankles, holding the gun to her stomach. Once she was finished, she put the gun on the counter, picked Ali up bridal style, and dumped her into the bath tub. The porcelain was still wet, splotching Ali's new shirt, while Ali herself merely stared at Emily, unmoving and impossible to read.

Emily briefly left the room, returning with a long armed shirt.

"No talking, no screaming," she instructed, leaning over the bath tub edge. She gagged Ali, whose eyes turned a fraction more livid as she tied the knot tight.

Then, Emily left her there, feeling unhinged and reeling. She remembered the convenient store. She grabbed her wig and the key card and left the hotel room, taking the envelope with her.

She was getting her pretzels, god damn it. And a drink.

 **What do you think? What does the letter say? Who is the copycat? Will our girls kiss and make up?**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N:** I'm glad you liked the last chapter! Some of your reviews were hilarious, especially the one about loving pretzels and weaves. You all seem very receptive to an Emily in charge. You'll like this chapter. But please tell me what you think anyways.

To answer some questions,

 **Will the other girls be in this story? Will the parents?** The only pretty little liar that might make an appearance closer to the end of the story is Spencer. And, as for parents, this story follows the canon of the books where Jessica is a part of Ali's life, but Kenneth is out of the picture. For Emily, her family never supported her in the books, so she has a poor relationship with them. That said, there will be no parents or loving Wayne Fields in the context of this story.

 **How long will this story be?** I'm thinking between 15-20 chapters at this point. I know that's a big fluctuation, but this story has shorter chapters, so I'm not sure yet. I don't have them fully outlined, so it could be a little longer or a little shorter.

 **Why is Emily so regretful about sleeping with Alison but yet Alison isn't?** They both regret it at this point. They're both confused.

But keep reading to find out how that evolves!

* * *

Emily stumbled back to the hotel at first sign of daylight. It was offensive, that sliver of light poking out from behind the clouds. It was unwelcome. She glared at it. But she knew she couldn't keep drinking, that her wig might look comically fake under the light of day. It probably looked comically fake now, and the last thing she needed was to get picked up by the cops with Alison bound and gagged in her hotel room.

So, she growled, walking back to the hotel, bottle in hand, mumbling angrily to herself. She didn't care how she might look. Crazy? Sure. She was. Dismantled? Yep, that too. It had been hours, but she was still livid. She was livid about being drugged. She was livid about sleeping with Alison. And, most of all, she was _furious_ after opening that envelope.

When she'd left the hotel room, Emily had rewarded herself at the convenience store with several 40s of malt liquor and pretzels bought with CeCe's money. Then, she sat on the curb outside and opened the envelope. In fact, the contents of it were still crumpled in her fist.

"Mother fucker," she cursed quietly, crushing the paper back into her pocket. "Every mother fucker."

She didn't sound like herself, and she laughed. Who was she even anymore? Who was Emily Fields? Six months ago, Emily was happy. She thought she was free of Ali. She had a life, a future. She laughed again, taking a drink. Because, of course, now six months later, they'd slept together, and Emily had Alison hogtied in a bath tub.

Ali, who wouldn't even look at her. Like _Emily_ had done something wrong. The constant teasing, the constant staring. Gone. Was it going to be like that now? Did Emily even care?

She didn't care. But it still felt bad. Like everything else. Like that fucking letter, another thing to add to her list of grievances. Though it was less of a letter and more of a note, really. A post card.

"Every mother fucker," she mumbled to herself again.

Emily snorted and approached the hotel room. She lingered by the door, looking around, the dawn lightening the sky by the second, becoming more and more blinding. She stalled, kicking a rock by her shoe.

What should she do about Alison? What should she feel? Alison fucking DiLaurentis. Her anger had been keeping her awake the last several hours, but like a swampy bog or thick ice, she had no idea what sort of emotions lay underneath. She wasn't sure if she wanted to know. Standing there, she was reminded of something Ali had said last night.

 _"Are you mad because you want my attention or because you have it?"_

It seemed like Emily was mad when she wanted it, when she had it, and when she didn't have it.

 _Well, whatever,_ she thought with a huff, turning back to the door. Soon enough, Ali's attention would be back on her, whether she wanted it or not.

Emily slipped the key card into the lock, swaying a little, before entering the hotel room. She looked around, making sure Ali hadn't escaped, but the room appeared as she'd left it. The muted glow of the bathroom light ghosted across the room, and it was quiet, seemingly vacant.

She slammed her bottle down on the bedside table and discarded her wig. Then, she silently stared at the bathroom door before taking two large steps and throwing it open. Just inside, she leaned against the door frame, cocking her head with a sideways smile.

Ali was there, eyes burning a phosphorescent blue.

It wasn't hard to see that the blonde was _pissed_. In fact, it gave Emily a twinge of satisfaction. She held Ali's gaze for a moment, silently gloating, before she glanced down, checking her bonds. The belt was still in place around her ankles, the cuffs still secured behind her back. But otherwise Ali looked almost exactly the same. As if she hadn't moved once in the past several hours. Why didn't she struggle? Why didn't she try to break free?

Emily crossed the room, bending over and unknotting the gag. She threw it carelessly behind her as Ali coughed, closing and opening her mouth as if to regain sensation, wiping her chin on her shoulder. Then, she turned that coal burning blue gaze back on Emily.

"That was disgusting, Emily," she said, that all too familiar rasp a little drier, a little sexier. "You're worse than Nick."

"Worse than Nick?" Emily countered with a raised eyebrow. "Funny, I don't remember terrorizing and murdering innocent girls."

"Are you sure?" Ali asked in softly mocking tone.

Emily placed both hands on the bath tub's edge, gripping hard.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Ali," she gritted tightly, her voice still sounding strange to herself. "But you know why you're here, why you're in _there_."

"Tell me," Ali said, shifting her hands slightly behind her back. She looked so helpless, sounded so innocent. "Why am I in here?"

Emily sighed. Alison could be so infuriating. Why did it always have to be such an act, such a game?

"You drugged me," Emily answered simply.

"I was drugged, too."

"And that makes it, what?" Emily balked. "Consensual?"

Alison dropped the unknowing façade, a flash of anger crossing her face.

"Who says _you_ didn't drug me?" she snarled, leaning back. She smiled, a dip in the corner of her mouth. "Imagine if the cops came in right now. Here I am cuffed, recently gagged. Drugged. Who do you think they'll believe?"

Emily's face hardened.

"I didn't _drug_ you."

"Prove it," Ali snapped, looking more like the Alison DiLaurentis of Emily's nightmares than ever. It pissed her off. She didn't want to see or talk to _that_ Ali. Emily was in charge, for once, goddamnit.

So, she leaned forward and placed both hands under Alison's knees and back. She scooped her out of the bath tub as if she weighed nothing at all, not that Emily would feel it. The alcohol had numbed her body, numbed her mind. She turned towards the bedroom, Ali in her arms, and walked through the threshold.

"Fuck," Ali yelped in complaint, her shoulder slamming into the half open bathroom door. Emily didn't apologize, though, and continued through, dropping her onto the bed with a bounce.

She picked up her bottle, then, taking a sip of her beer as she stood above the blonde. Ali was on her back, perched on her elbows, looking back at Emily with animosity and even, if Emily was correct in her drunken state, a hint of fear.

"Do you have the key for those?" Emily asked with a slight slur, gesturing to the cuffs while she took another drink.

Ali looked at the bottle and then back at Emily.

"No."

Emily shrugged and bent over to grab one of the many bobby pins from Ali's bag. Then, she leaned over Ali on the bed and turned her onto her stomach. It took her a minute, her hands were shaking from the lack of food, sleep, sobriety, everything, but she finally picked the lock free.

"Aren't you just full of surprises," Ali commented when she was done, one wrist free. But Emily once again flipped her over onto her back and cuffed her hands from the front.

Ali looked perturbed.

Emily ignored her and pulled her by the wrists up to the headboard. She slipped her cuffs behind one of the posts, so that Ali wouldn't be able to easily attack. But, in the process of putting Ali's hands over her head, her soft sleep shirt rode up, exposing her pale stomach, her diminutive frame. In her state of inebriation, Emily wasn't as quick, wasn't as careful. She couldn't quite stop her gaze from lingering.

Ali shifted slightly, bringing Emily's attention back to her eyes, reading her gaze.

"Already wanting more, Em?" she goaded.

Internally, Emily cursed herself for being so obvious. She felt a flicker of shame and guilt, and Ali honed in.

"You made a lot of noise last night, sweetie," she continued, Emily's face visibly darkening at the term of endearment. "I think you liked it a little _too_ much."

Emily only stared at her before smiling ruefully.

"Really, Ali?" she questioned. "Making fun of me for something you went out of your way to initiate?"

Ali looked at her, her self-satisfied expression faltering.

"God, sometimes, I swear you're just like _her_ ," Emily pointed out, placing her hands on the pillow on both sides of Ali's head to get a closer look. "That sounded exactly like something your sister would say."

Emily hoped this would get a rise out of Ali, comparing her to Courtney, but Ali surprised her. She smirked.

"Not anymore," she replied silkily.

Emily's eyes narrowed, her vision blurring slightly.

She climbed on top of Alison then, her knees hugging the blonde's waist, her palms staying still at both sides of her head. She looked at her for a few tense seconds, before she placed her hands at Ali's throat, her thumbs resting softly on the dip of her collar bone. But Ali's skin was soft, and she was tempted to feel more of it. So, she pressed her fingers gently up her neck, Ali had such a long, slender neck. It always looked better when it was up in a ponytail, like it had been at the hearing. But her hair was down now, wavy, air dried. Emily pushed it aside to see more of it.

As she did this, Ali didn't react, her eyes remaining a wintry cool. But her skin told a different story. Her cheek felt hot as Emily traced a finger down it. Her pulse felt heavy and fast at the hollow of her neck. Emily knew she was afraid. And, strangely, it was a little exhilarating. After all, Emily had been waiting a long time to have the tables turned on Alison. This was "A", the girl who had tried to and maybe even succeeded at destroying her life. And she was right where Emily wanted her.

Her finger fell from her cheek, landed back on her throat.

"I should kill you for what you did to her," Emily said. "For what you did to me."

Ali took a careful breath, her chest heaving, her lips wet, catching Emily's eye.

"You kill me now," Ali replied slowly. "And they'll know the copycat is you."

This made Emily want to laugh, her face contorting in mockery. She shook her head and removed her hands, sitting back on Ali's thighs.

"Is that what you meant earlier?" she asked with exasperation. "You think I'm the copycat?"

Alison just watched her, like Emily was trying to trick her, like she was about to pull some sort of magic trick sleight of hand. It annoyed Emily. Ali was always assessing, always analyzing, never trustful.

"You tell me," she said flatly.

Emily only sighed heavily, reaching for her bottle on the bedside table. She took a long drink, rolling her eyes again for good measure. When she was done, she continued to stare at the ceiling, feeling her body buzzing, the strange warmth beneath it.

"Are you going to hurt me?" Ali asked, pulling Emily's attention back to where she was, what she was doing.

She looked back down, the bottle loose in her hand and… she could've sworn that Alison rolled her hips, almost imperceptibly. Or maybe Emily had moved? She couldn't be sure which. All she knew was the room seemed darker, the alcohol tasted bitterer, and Ali felt warmer.

"If I want to," she replied, distracted.

Feeling wordlessly inclined to do so, she lifted Alison's shirt, following the trail of a large scar with the point of two fingers. It was like a river channel, snaking down her side, disappearing under her shorts.

"You love scars, don't you, Alison?" Emily heard herself saying. "You've given me two, did you know that?"

She glanced back at Ali, who was watching her warily.

"No."

"I should I give you the same scars you gave me," Emily threatened, lifting her finger from Ali's side.

She let that sink in, watching Ali's guarded exterior, her measured breaths.

"But I won't," Emily chirped, setting the bottle down beside her on the bed. "Instead, we're going to play a little game. You like games, don't you?"

Ali's eyes glittered at the proposition.

"I'm listening," she said.

"How about," Emily singsonged, sitting upright again on Ali's legs. She was feeling reckless, flammable, close to combustion. "You tell me a truth, and you get a dare."

Ali seemed to consider this, her interest piqued.

"The truth will set you free," she intoned sarcastically.

At first, Emily wasn't sure where she'd heard that before. But then she remembered the club, the dance floor, Ali's nails biting into her spine.

 _"Who have you become?"_

Emily pushed the memory away, shifting uncomfortably as she glanced at Ali's hands above her head. They looked dainty and fragile against the harsh metal of her bindings.

"Then let's begin," she said gruffly. "How was the copycat communicating with you?"

"Through Paige," Ali answered simply.

"Paige?" Emily probed. "The bartender? You knew her?"

"That's two questions," Ali chided. "So, I get two dares. And yes."

Emily didn't like that Ali was giving the orders, eyes narrowing.

"Well," Emily prompted when Ali still stayed silent. "What's your dare?"

"Give me a drink of that," Ali instructed after a moment's consideration, motioning her chin at the malt liquor.

 _Easy enough_ , Emily thought. She leaned over, grabbing the bottle, the glass cool on her fingers. She carefully tipped it towards Ali's mouth and, just as Ali was about to wrap her lips around it, Emily stopped, just out of easy reach.

Ali looked annoyed, but strained forward, her tongue darting out to lick drops off the edge as Emily watched.

"What else?" Emily asked, putting the bottle away.

"Take that belt off on my ankles."

Emily looked behind her at the belt she'd placed on Ali's feet. She looked back at Ali skeptically.

"Are you going to behave?"

"Quiet as a church mouse," Ali answered innocently. "Promise."

Needless to say, Emily didn't believe a single word. But she was willing to have a little fun.

"Removing a binding?" Emily faux considered out loud. "That costs extra."

"Already changing the rules, Em?" Ali mocked.

"Only doing what you would do, _sweetie_ ," Emily replied.

The silence stretched while Emily waited for the blonde's acquiescence. She knew how tightly Ali held onto control and how difficult it would be for her to simply hand it over to Emily.

"What's your question?" Ali finally said with annoyance.

Emily was ready.

"So, how long did you want to fuck me, Ali?"

Ali's cool exterior faltered for a moment, her cheeks flushing slightly, her jaw tightening.

"Like was it months? Years?" Emily provoked. "Did you fantasize about kissing me with tongue, going down on me?"

Ali still didn't answer, holding Emily's gaze furiously.

"I mean, I know you're a planner, so I'm guessing it was awhile—"

"Shut up," Ali snarled.

"Look, it's simple, Alison," Emily continued, unfazed. "You tell me the answer, or the belt stays."

Ali looked away, refusing to submit.

"Or we get the gag again," Emily declared.

Ali sighed loudly at that.

"Fine, months."

"See, was that so hard?" Emily mocked, leaning back, one palm on Ali's knee while the other unfastened the buckle.

"The truth will set you free," she repeated, throwing the belt on the floor, watching it whip like a snake across the carpet.

"Enough of your wet dreams," she teased, turning back. "Back to the topic at hand. How did you know Paige?"

Ali breathed loudly like she was trying to collect herself, calm down. Emily could feel her stretch her feet.

"She was pretending to be part of my legal team," she replied, eyes scanning over Emily. "She passed me messages."

"And what did these messages say?" Emily asked.

"Are we still doing dares or is this just an interrogation now?" Ali sniped.

Emily gritted her teeth, feeling like she was dealing with a particularly hard to break animal.

"Sure," she consented. "We're still doing dares."

"Then, sit back on my knees."

Emily thought it was a strange request, was she going to try to buck her off? Curious, she did it anyway, shimmying backwards off of Ali's hips, closer to her knees.

Ali looked satisfied and continued.

"They were notes, sometimes photos of the crime scene. They were mocking me. She'd say things like—"

"She?" Emily interrupted.

"Yes, she. They were signed 'C.' May I continue?" Ali asked with slight irritation.

Emily nodded, keeping silent.

"She'd say things like, 'I'm succeeding where you failed.'"

"C?" Emily asked, still processing. "Like CeCe?"

"Like Courtney," Ali corrected, a sharpness to her voice.

Emily's jaw felt tight.

"Courtney's dead," she stated.

"You don't have to tell me, Em," Ali replied with a mocking smile. "But they were still addressed from -C."

Emily shook her head, absorbing everything.

"I get my dare, right?" Ali asked, disturbing her thoughts.

Emily nodded distractedly.

"Put your hands on my thighs."

Emily hesitated again, looking back at Alison, who merely waited patiently, pupils looking bigger, blacker. Emily eventually complied, though, placing a hand delicately on Ali's respective thighs. She willed herself not to move, even though she could feel the end of Ali's soft sleep shorts, goosebumps rising where her fingers touched skin.

"What were the photos of in the crime scene?" Emily asked, her voice sounding strained.

"Dead Ali-cats."

Emily nodded, still distracted by the warmth beneath her fingers. She could feel Ali occasionally clenching her muscles there, forcing her fingers to move, fall inward.

"Touch m—" she began.

"No more dares," Emily interrupted, growing suddenly sick of Ali's demands.

She was in control, after all, Ali was the one cuffed. And she knew where Ali was going with this. But looking down, Emily saw that she'd already begun touching her. She'd unconsciously started skimming below a short leg, down, around, and grazed higher.

Should she stop? Should she keep going? What was she doing?

Her mouth fell open, she wet her lips with her tongue, not stopping, despite the warning in her mind. As she pushed over her legs with more pressure, she felt the end of the scar she'd found earlier. It was so big. Was it from the fire?

"Fine," Ali said with a gulp, watching as Emily's hands kneaded her hip, journeyed to her inner thighs. "What's the next question?"

Emily tried to think. Her brain felt fuzzy. Shaken and stirred. She wanted to look away, but Ali's eyes held her there, smooth and worn like a rare pearl.

"Did you kill Jordan?" Emily exhaled, pausing her motions, finally bringing herself to stop. She couldn't think, couldn't listen if her hands were moving.

Ali glanced down at the lack of movement, looking eager, strangely frustrated.

"I didn't," she answered.

"Don't lie, Alison," Emily warned, her voice rising. "You know what I mean. Did you tell that inmate to kill her?"

"No," Ali said again more firmly. "But I'm not sad she's dead."

Emily smoldered at the admission, digging her nails into Ali's skin.

"Jordan was new," Ali continued, her hips rising like a taunt to get Emily to move keep going. "And fun and different. But no one is ever going to be like me, Emily. No one."

Emily held her gaze stubbornly, not totally sure what Ali was trying to argue. Emily _hoped_ no one would ever be like Alison. She found herself moving again at that thought, harder, more aggressive than before. She wanted it to hurt, dig deep.

"Were you setting me up?" Emily accused as she did so. "At the club?"

A flash of something crossed Ali's face. She bit her pink bottom lip.

"I said I'd never hurt you."

"That's not an answer, Alison," Emily pushed. "Plus, you said you'd never kill me. You have hurt me."

Ali still didn't answer, holding that same lip between her teeth, glancing down briefly at Emily's hands. They had both rounded under her, to her ass, squeezing. She rolled her eyes away for a moment, looking like she was trying to bite back a moan.

"So, were you setting me up at the club?" Emily repeated.

"Yes."

Emily was angered by the response, but she didn't stop moving, taking advantage of Ali's vulnerable state. Instead, her fingers roughly moved back to the front of Ali's legs, grazing the smooth, baby soft skin just inside her thigh. She felt Ali's stretched, hard tendons, the flexing muscles. The other played with the hard bones of her hips, thumbing over the faint lines of her stomach. And Ali wasn't holding back now, moving more discernibly, like water, like waves rolling. She finally pushed hard, under her shorts this time, cupping her ass again, feeling that she had no underwear on. Ali's hands splayed open above her in the cuffs as she did so, pulled against them as if she was desperate to touch back. She rolled her head back, eyes closing as she took a breath.

"Ugh," she gasped. "Take my shorts off."

Emily wanted to refuse because she'd told Ali no more dares, but her mind was already there, actively considering just that. She wasn't sure what was wrong with her, what had come over her. She'd never done _anything_ like this. Her other sexual experiences had always been slightly anxious, in the dark, embarrassed. Her partners had usually been careful, a bit reserved.

But not Ali. Ali was not embarrassed. She was not shy.

And what would it prove not to do it? That Emily _wasn't_ attracted to Alison? That she didn't _want_ to have sex with her? Too late, after last night. Might as well admit and embrace who she was, what she wanted to do. She felt heavy, numb, and primal. She felt like a single celled organism who only had one mission.

She coupled Ali's feet at the ankles and dragged her shorts down. When finished, she sat on her knees on the bed, beside Ali's half naked body. She ran a hand lightly up and down Ali's sex. In turn, the blonde whimpered slightly.

"Why are you such a bad girl, Ali?" she asked

"I think you like them bad," Ali answered, an octave lower.

Emily waited for her dare, but Ali seemed distracted by her fingers teasing lower then back higher again.

"You do know what happens to bad girls, right?" Emily prompted, easily falling into this role.

"They get punished?" Ali answered in a breath.

"No more talking," Emily said moving to the headboard, sliding the cuffs off of the bedpost.

She pulled Ali upward, turning her over, so that she was on her knees and hands. Emily knelt on the bed behind her, gliding her hands over the backs of her thighs, her ass, squaring hips to hips. Ali watched her, her cheek pressed against her shoulder, her breathing quick, her mouth open. It looked wet, red, and dark. Emily wanted to feed her food. Fruit. She wanted to feel Ali's lips close around her fingers.

"Have you been bad?"

Ali opened her mouth to answer, but Emily smirked, gripping the supple flesh roughly, watching her finger tips leave light pink indentations. Then, she slapped Ali's ass, hard.

"No talking," she said.

Ali bit back a moan, closing her eyes. Emily ran her fingers lower, massaging between her legs, tracing lines in her arousal.

"Do you want me inside you, Ali?"

"I—mmph," she answered as Emily circled her entrance. But she had talked, so Emily slapped her ass again.

"What did I say?" she teased, cupping her fully with one hand, while the other slipped under her shirt, up her back to her neck.

This time, Ali caught on, and simply nodded.

"Use words," Emily prompted, earning an annoyed grumble from Alison.

"Yes," she stammered, moaning when Emily pressed through her folds with two fingers.

She started slow at first, like a boat on calm waters, keeping a hand on Alison's hip. She wanted to toy with her a little bit, the way Ali liked to toy with her. She waited until Ali was groaning in frustration before going faster, hitting the flesh inside her harder. She pushed Ali's shirt up to her neck ahain. That pretty neck.

Wanting to kiss it, touch more, see, more, Emily lifted a hand on her shoulder, pulling Ali to stand on her knees. She stayed inside, not stopping. She pushed under shirt again, massaging her chest before fluttering her free hand down over her clit. Ali cried out, as Emily hit a rough patch inside her.

"Do you like that?" she whispered, moving in circles with one hand, penetrating with the other. She pressed her nose into the sweet vanilla smell behind her ear.

"Uh huh," Ali gasped as Emily curved her fingers. Ali turned her head so that it was laying on Emily's shoulder.

"Do you want me to kiss you?"

"Yes," she answered.

Emily obliged, sliding her tongue into the blonde's mouth, dominating the kiss as completely as she was dominating the other parts of Ali's body. She could taste Alison's moan, felt it vibrating against her tongue. Ali lifted her arms, dropping her cuffed hands over Emily's head, roughly scratching her fingers over her scalp.

Their kiss became open mouthed, sloppy. Alison couldn't hold back the noises any longer as Emily hit the same spot inside of Alison. Her fingers shook, her stomach trembled, and Emily felt her coming. She slowed, but continued touching her still, lost in the sensation of the heat and wetness between Ali's legs.

"Ali, I wonder," Emily said, dragging a finger across her hip bone, to her navel. "What do you taste like?"

Ali opened her eyes, still shaking slightly, still trying to regain composure. She turned her head again to look at Emily, who still stood behind her.

Before Ali answered though, Emily felt herself shudder, something animalistic. She shuffled Alison to the top of the bed, keeping her on her knees. She placed Ali's hands onto the headboard and slid down behind her. Alison watched, looking confused, until Emily laid down and slowly shimmied backwards, sliding between Ali's knees, face up.

"Don't move," Emily ordered.

Ali's mouth was open, like she didn't quite believe what she was seeing. She didn't move, though, until the first swipe of Emily's tongue made her hands strain again the head board, wood creaking. A few more, and her eyes rolled back in total submission, hips guided by Emily's hands, up and down.

Emily ran her tongue up along the length of her, back and forth over her folds and around her opening. She licked into Ali, working deep, stroking the front wall and dragging out as much wetness as she could. Ali, for her part, could only open her legs wider, grip harder, moan louder. Emily thought she looked beautiful like this, riding Emily's face. Unbridled. Free. Herself. Emily reached up and massaged both breasts, pinched each nipple.

Ali seemed lost, resisted nothing. Which made it a perfect opportunity for Emily to tease her, sweet revenge for Ali's earlier comment about the "loud noises" she made last night. She paused suddenly, holding Ali still.

Ali's eyes lanced downward, questioningly, frustrated.

"Don't fucking stop," she rasped.

But Emily did stop, holding the blonde's gaze challengingly.

"Say you want this, Ali."

Ali groaned loudly, hating, but obviously enjoying the petty torments.

"I want this."

"Tell me you've thought about this," Emily continued to tease.

"Please, Emily," Ali begged. "I've thought about this."

"Then put your hands in my hair," Emily directed.

Ali quickly released her tight hold on the headboard and sank her cuffed hands into Emily's hair, urging her tongue back against her. Their eyes met, and Emily grabbed her ass, moving Ali forcefully into her mouth, stroking firmly, rhythmically. She could feel the blonde's legs shaking, could see her abdominal muscles straining.

She held their gaze until Ali pants came hard, eyes closing. Emily focused on the rocking of Ali's hips, how she pushed against Emily's tongue in a very specific, needy way. Her thumb found Ali's clit, pressing down, circling like a bird of prey. Simultaneously, she prodded her tongue deep inside, just right, and it was all over. Ali's body locked, spine arched, fingers pulling hard at the roots of Emily's hair. She didn't let up, even though it was hot, smothering, even as Ali began to convulse around her tongue. She tasted, smelled, and felt her orgasm.

After a few moments, Ali slid her body backwards, leaving a trail of fluid in her wake, and collapsed against Emily's shoulder. She was sweating, breathing hard as if she'd just run a race.

"Ohmygod," she mumbled against Emily's skin, hands still cuffed at her chest.

Emily reached to wipe her face on the sheet, somewhat self-satisfied. It had been awhile, but she was relatively pleased with herself.

"Was sex with Nick better than it was with me?" she asked, wrapping an arm around Ali. Emily normally wouldn't have asked, but she was feeling outside herself. The room was beginning to spin.

"No," Ali answered breathlessly.

With that, Emily closed her eyes, the blackness quickly caving in.

"Are you going to make me sleep with these on?" Ali asked, causing Emily to jerk awake. Emily looked down, noticing that her hands still awkwardly pinned at her chest.

Emily sighed, too tired to argue. She looked for the bobby pin from earlier, finding it on the bedside table. She sat up, and Ali shifted on her lap, offering her hands with the lock facing up. Emily picked it easier this time and pulled Ali's hands free. She dropped the cuffs on the floor, and Alison pushed gently at Emily's shoulders, situating herself comfortably on top of her. It wasn't long before they were both asleep.

* * *

A few hours later, Emily awoke, she wasn't sure why at first. The lamp was off, the blinds were drawn, and the room was dark. She figured it must be night again. But that wasn't what woke her. Something was moving, someone was touching her. There was hot breath in her ear.

Ali's hand ran under shirt, cupping a breast. Emily's jeans had been peeled off at some point and cast away onto the floor. She wasn't wearing a bra.

"You feel so good," Ali whispered, running her tongue along Emily's neck.

Emily groaned, unable to stop her body from responding. She pushed her back hard against Ali's front, eager to feel the shape of her in the darkness. She wasn't even totally conscious, still half drunk. She felt pulled between a waking and a sleeping world.

"You're always ready for me, aren't you?" Ali teased, running her other hand lower, up and down Emily's core.

Emily moaned as Ali began to focus her movements. It was all so dreamlike, that voice in her ear, those hands on her body. But it also reminded her of another time she'd heard Ali phrase a statement similarly.

 _"Say you'd never stopped thinking about me," Ali growled, her gun at Emily's temple. "Say you'd kill for me."_

But now, instead of the cool kiss of gunmetal, she felt Ali's warm lips, an insistent finger at her entrance. Emily couldn't help but wonder… when had things changed? Or had they not changed at all? How could she be allowing this, how could she be enjoying it?

She honestly just didn't know any more. It was almost like some sort of sick, macabre vampire story. Ali had bit her, and now Emily would never be free. She was infected, she'd become a creature of the night, and Alison's blood ran through her veins. Alison would always be part of her.

Alison plunged inside, and Emily gripped strands of her loose blonde hair, moved her hips in sync with each thrust.

"Did you like what we did earlier?" Ali whispered against her ear, licking inside at the same rhythm as her driving fingers. "Did you like fucking me like that?"

Emily whimpered, a little ashamed but more aroused than anything. Not for the first time in her life, she felt like Ali was capable of coaxing whatever feeling she wanted out of Emily. Like she was her puppet.

"I feel like you cursed me, Alison," Emily replied, wrapping a hand around Ali's thigh, gripping her ass firmly as she felt a burning pool low, building, felt the sticky wetness of Alison pumping in and out.

"I gave you power," Ali said seductively, biting and sucking hard at a spot on Emily's neck.

Emily couldn't argue, lost in feeling. She wrapped her arms around Ali's shoulders, pulling her close, feeling her stomach, her breasts, flat against hers. Alison pulled another moan from her as she picked up her speed.

And, then, without much warning, Emily felt herself shuddering, a flood of pleasure washing over her. She squeezed Ali tightly, panting hard into her hair. Alison pulled back to watch, hovering above Emily as she slowed her movements. She was looking down, profile obscured by the dark, but blue eyes shining as brightly as ever.

Emily placed a hand on her face, covering the scar, imagining, only for a moment, that nothing had ever happened between them. That they were just two girls who had grown up together in Rosewood, Pennsylvania.

"Why me, Ali?"

"Isn't it obvious, honey?" Ali said, caressing Emily's jaw in return. "I'm obsessed with you."

 **I know you guys asked about the letter, we'll see it next chapter! As well as some not so pleasant gifts for Alison from the copycat.**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N:** Wow, guys! That's actually the most reviews I've ever gotten on ANY chapter. Thank you! And I loved some of your comments. Let me just say, last chapter was NOT a dream! But I still love the enthusiasm, Dream Conspiracist. All theories welcome, especially after this next chapter.

* * *

 _Emily leaned back in her seat, hearing the high pitched groan of metal on metal, feeling the back of her thighs catch the edge of the thick, worn plastic._

" _I'm going to go higher than you!" a voice taunted next to her. It was syrupy and playful._

" _Nuh uh!" she shouted back, too elated to come up with a better reply._

 _Emily took a hard breath, her swing reaching its pinnacle, her body angled towards the ground. There was that feeling of weightlessness before she pitched forward, squeezing her eyes shut. When she opened them again, she looked left. Ali's blonde hair was flowing behind her like a flag waving in the wind, and her eyes were sharp and clear like the blue sky behind her._

No, they were even bluer _, Emily thought._

 _She tried not to stare, a smile plastered on her face, but it was impossible. Alison looked too pretty to look away. So, she didn't, heaving another great breath as she swung in a half arc, long legs straight as boards in front of her as she reeled in the sense of vertigo. Alison caught her eye just as they swung high again, and Emily wasn't sure which felt scarier, looking at Alison like this, or hurtling butt first back towards the earth._

" _We almost had it!" Ali shouted giddily as they continued to swing._

 _They weren't actually in a competition to go the highest. Instead, they were trying to perfectly sync, side by side, but Emily was a little convinced that Ali kept throwing off their timing. Right as Emily would catch up, Ali would extend a leg, letting her foot skid along the dirt, and Emily would shoot past her, resetting their game. Then, Ali would cackle evilly._

 _This was a game Ali had enjoyed lately. Emily had only been her friend for a few months, so who was she to argue? She would do anything Ali asked. Especially because… Emily wasn't sure why, but right when they'd sync their swinging, Ali would shout out the weirdest phrase. Something that always made Emily's ears go a little hot._

 _In fact, as they reached the peak of their next swing, Ali reached out her hand, breaching the air between them, her fingers looking small and delicate._

" _We're married!" she screamed in excitement._

 _Emily focused on Ali's fingers nearing hers, on the idea that if she could move those last few inches, they'd be touching. Maybe she'd even be holding Alison's hand. But then Ali was flying away from her, shooting off the edge of her seat, and Emily was left hurtling backwards, hand outstretched._

 _She'd forgotten. When Ali said that, they were both supposed to jump off their swings. But she'd been distracted. Alison had been right there. She had been so close. Why was her best friend always just out of her reach?_

 _She flew off the seat on the next pass, eyes closed and trying to forget that terrible feeling._

* * *

Emily shivered, stirring from sleep. She wasn't sure why she felt a chill, she'd felt something warm on her earlier, something soft. But now she felt its absence acutely, and she searched for it, one hand ghosting under the sheet, other reaching out into the air.

What was she missing?

 _Alison_ , she thought suddenly, jerking awake.

 _Shit_.

Alison was uncuffed. She could've escaped. She could've taken the gun. Emily sat up fast, even though she felt a surge of nausea and the room spun slightly, tilting on its axis. She had to find her, though, before Ali found the cops.

She whipped her legs off the bed, a sheet clutched around her chest, when her eyes fell on a figure watching her curiously from the floor. Alison sat there, a piece of chicken in her hand, those crystal blue eyes looking at Emily like a particularly fascinating zoo animal.

Emily merely stared back at her for a moment, shocked Ali was still in the hotel room, shocked she was eating so casually, and wondering, really, what in the hell she was doing on the floor. She was also in a different, over large t-shirt and warm looking sweat pants, like she'd left the room recently.

"What is that?" Emily finally asked, her voice sounding scratchy, alcohol abused.

"I got us food," Ali shrugged, indicating a large plastic bag full of Styrofoam packages.

Emily looked at the bag, then back at Alison, if possible, even more disbelieving than before.

"You bought us food?" she asked with a hint of skepticism.

"Well, I wouldn't say 'bought,'" Ali answered, biting into the orange chicken with those perfect white teeth.

Watching Ali eat, Emily instantly became aware of her own hunger. She felt her stomach rumble angrily, long neglected. She was keenly aware that the food was Chinese, she could smell the spices, the meat, even the rice.

She pulled the sheet with her, sliding to the floor next to Alison with her back against the bed. She removed one of the packages, not caring at all what it might be. She'd eat anything. It could be road kill, and she wouldn't care.

Fortunately for her, it was not. She tore into something with noodles, broccoli, and some sort of honeyed chicken. She was halfway through the entire box before hazarding a glance at Alison.

"You didn't kill someone for this, did you?" she managed between bites.

Ali turned to look at her, a devilish smile playing at the corner of her mouth.

"No," she answered in that seductive rasp. "But I would have."

Emily tried not to let her eyes idle too long on Ali's lips as they wrapped around a spoonful of egg drop soup, but she didn't quite manage. So, she continued to eat while scanning the pink tinged scar, the ocean deep darkness of Ali's blue eyes, and her glossy, pulled back pony tail. Ali looked back her, searching Emily, too. For what? Emily had no idea.

Feeling an unbidden pang of regret, Emily looked away, back into her steamed vegetables. Was it because of what had happened last night? Or was it because of the dream? That had been her Ali, the gleeful squeals, the manic smile. Courtney had loved swinging, and they'd done it for hours on end in 7th grade.

What would Courtney think of her now?

She swallowed a too large bite, and couldn't help but wonder if she had betrayed her best friend. Emily had slept with her sister, her killer. Twice now. The person who had laughed at Emily, mocked her, and tortured her. But she could also hear that silky voice again, like a smoke tendril curling up into the darkness,

" _I'm obsessed with you, honey."_

Emily chewed, not sure what to make of her twisting insides. So, she pushed the thoughts away, mostly out of guilt because she didn't want to risk getting turned on again. By Courtney's fucking killer.

She glanced at the blonde, but Ali was no longer watching her, picking instead at the plastic packaging of a fortune cookie.

"Do you think this will tell us the future, Em?" she said teasingly.

Emily didn't reply as she watched her crack the shell open, not bothering to eat it as the pieces fell to the floor. She slid the paper from the cookie with those same small, delicate fingers and read thoughtfully.

"Well, that was about what I expected," she said under her breath, nonplussed, tossing it into Emily's lap.

Emily picked it up while she continued to eat.

" _ **You will be the guest of a gracious host."**_

Emily furrowed her brow at that, somewhat unsettled by the message, before she felt Ali shift beside her.

"I think this will be a more insightful, sweetie," Ali said, holding up a crumpled post card.

Emily bristled at that damn nickname, but then her eyes fell to what Ali was holding. The note.

"I found it in your jeans," Ali explained simply, sounding neither angry nor particularly pleased. Just calm. Blank.

Emily sighed, putting her food down on the stained carpet. She took it from Ali, going over it once again, suppressing a feeling of hot, boiling anger.

It was just a post card for Philadelphia, a picture of a giant cracked liberty bell on the front side, but on the back, it had unusual handwriting, slanted and small.

 _ **You sentimental fool,  
don't you know I'm irreplaceable?  
Your time is running out.  
If you're missing something,  
try checking the last place you saw it.  
-C**_

"What does it mean?" Ali asked as Emily glared down at the writing.

"Well," Emily started with bitter resignation, dropping the note back into Ali's lap. "It looks like it's from your copy cat. You said they signed their messages this way."

Ali looked at her with narrowing eyes. She flattened the post card with her thumb, smoothing the bent corners.

"I don't know," she said with uncertainty. "It's different. The other messages, they always used things I'd said before. I never said anything like this."

"What do you mean, things you said before?" Emily asked. "Like what?"

"You know me," Ali started slowly. "You killed me."

Emily heard Alison, heard _that_ voice, and it was like she was looking at _her_ again. Like Courtney was saying that to her. It was haunting. It hurt. She looked away, clenching her jaw.

"That was one," Ali sighed. "'It's my turn to torture you.' That was another."

"So, things you said as -A?" Emily asked.

Ali nodded.

"Is it the same handwriting?"

Ali leaned forward, looking at the script.

"Yes."

"Well, then it seems pretty clear to me that it's Cece," Emily snapped in a terse tone, closing the lid of her now empty styrofoam package. "She's fucking with you."

Ali glanced sharply up.

"This is _not_ Cece," she stated in a growl. "It's obviously Paige."

"I thought it was me?" Emily challenged, holding Alison's tiger-like, aggressive gaze.

Ali didn't flinch, her eyes burning but otherwise unreadable.

"Like I told you, Paige was helping," she replied, ignoring Emily. "Or maybe that was just a ruse, and she's the actual killer. But either way, this is her. It's not CeCe."

Ali said it with complete finality, but Emily still wasn't so sure. She thought back to Paige, to the brown-haired girl from the club. She hadn't struck Emily as some Ali-obsessed psycho. But then again she remembered the lingering touch, the comment about Emily's hair.

"You were talking to her," Ali said, and Emily glanced up quickly, the desire to tell Alison to get out of her head on the tip of her tongue. "What did she say?"

" _You're pretty innocent, huh?"_ Emily could hear in her mind, the base of CeCe's Gaga pounding like a rushing heartbeat in her ears.

She felt woozy for a second, maybe the food wasn't settling well in her stomach. She closed her eyes, trying not to get sick. After a moment, she opened them again, collecting her thoughts.

"She might've recognized me," she admitted quietly.

She glanced at the blonde, expecting Ali to be mad but she only sighed, leaning back on her palms, looking deep in thought.

"Is that how you were going to set me up?" Emily continued, her voice gaining in strength, her stomach still pitching. "That night? Through Paige?"

"Yes," Ali breathed, toying with lint on the ground. "We were going to kill her. So, maybe this is payback."

Emily sighed, clutching the sheet tighter to her chest and rolling her eyes.

"Everything is always your fault."

"This is not my fault," Ali defended angrily. "I told you the copy cat would come to me, and they did."

"Yes," Emily clipped back. "And then you drugged us, so we wouldn't be able to stop them. Great work, Alison."

Ali only smoldered, nails digging into the fibers of the carpet. Emily snatched the note back up.

"You asked what this meant?" Emily said, waving the post card in front of her. "I'm guessing she wants us to go back to the crime scene," she spat, tossing it back at Alison and standing.

"It's going to be crawling with cops," Ali argued.

"Well, we can't stay here anyway," Emily said, looking down at Ali's incredulity. "If it is Paige, I bet she knows exactly where we are. And she left us CeCe's wallet for a reason. That's what we're 'missing,' isn't it?"

Ali's expression shifted to a grim one.

"She wants to play."

"You'd know all about that, wouldn't you?" Emily said through her teeth, finally walking away.

She needed to put some clothes on. Warm clothes for once. And she needed to go make sure the damn gun was still in the bathroom.

"What if we don't go along?" Ali suggested as Emily rooted through the packed bag for clothes.

Emily grumbled, dropping the sheet. She slipped a shirt over her head and pulled underwear and jeans over her legs. She turned around to Alison, who was sporting a bit of a flustered expression, still sitting on the floor.

"I know you're not used to being on this side of the game, Ali," Emily started, a bit of a mocking tone to her voice. "But there is no 'not playing along.'"

Ali looked like she was about to argue, so Emily crossed the room and leaned over the blonde, pressing a loose strand from her pony tail behind her ear. Ali stilled under her touch.

"It's either something bad happens," she said, caressing her jaw. "Or something worse."

* * *

After they dressed warmly and situated their wigs, they were back out in the frigid cold. The bag was slung over Alison's shoulder and the gun and cuffs safely tucked into each of Emily's jacket pockets. It wasn't for the cops, though, Emily wasn't quite sure she could use it on them. Instead, she was worried about the blonde to her left. Ali seemed compliant enough, but Emily wasn't about to start thinking she could predict a psychopath. So, she was going to stay prepared.

She waited for Ali to check them out of their hotel, kicking a rock in the parking lot. Emily knew she wouldn't miss it. Actually, she hoped she'd never see this place again. When they started walking, she didn't look at the convenience store either, the dull white light shining out onto the pavement in front of them. She didn't really look at anything as she followed Alison's petite form. Emily wasn't sure where they were going, how they even got here, but Alison always seemed to know the way.

Always.

Again, they walked in silence, but it seemed more amicable than last time. Less tense. Alison didn't seem to be trying to avoid her, in fact, they stood nearer to each other, and Ali's hand sometimes even bumped Emily's.

It made Emily wonder if Alison, psycho killer, was even capable of holding hands. Did she ever hold Nick's hands? Did she ever hold her parents? Emily would probably never know. She watched the blonde's face, the silver tipped scar at her eye brow moving as Ali lifted it, questioning Emily as she caught her eye.

But Emily looked away, back at the concrete.

The closer they got, they kept to the alleys, pressed close to the walls of the passing buildings. Ali wound down the same narrow passageway, the one they'd exited from before, and Emily finally recognized something about where they were. But not totally. Something had changed.

"That wasn't down before," Ali said, pausing and indicating a fire escape ladder.

She was right. The ladder jutted out into the alleyway as if it were asking to be climbed.

"Do you think it's for us?"

"Certainly makes things easier," Ali replied as she circled around it, placing her hands on the cold metal. "Help me up?"

Emily was reluctant to follow her request, but she slid her hands around Ali's waist and pushed her up the ladder, anyway. Afterwards, she jumped, her muscles burning as she lifted herself onto the ladder. As they both climbed, she tried not to stare at Ali's ass when she gazed skyward.

After three floors, they came to a flat landing. There was a window, and Emily peered in.

"I don't see any cops," she said.

"Don't touch anything," Ali responded sharply.

"We don't have gloves," Emily snarked back.

"Then use your sleeve."

Emily rolled her eyes but followed her instruction, finding the window unlocked as she moved to lift it up, her hand pressed through her sleeve.

"Do you think this is how Paige got in?" Ali asked, climbing in behind, using Emily's shoulder and hand for support.

Emily wasn't sure, feeling the cold sting of Ali's hands on hers. She resisted the urge to try to warm it up, dropping it to Ali's side. When she looked around, she noticed it was the guest room, the one they'd both slept in.

Something about it bothered Emily. What if Ali was right? She looked back at the window. What if Paige had come in this way? What if she'd seen…

She hadn't, Emily thought. They would've noticed. Or woken up.

Right?

She thought back to her state of mind. She was _so_ high. And not just on the drugs, but on Alison. Would she have noticed a face in the window, a creak on the fire escape? She hadn't even known there was a fire escape there.

She didn't like the feeling that was beginning to settle in her chest, her stomach.

Ali brushed past her, though, back into the living room, giving Emily a weird sense of déjà vu. Like they had _just_ done this, which they had only a few nights ago. She followed the blonde, but there was nothing there. It was quiet. The blood that was splattered red looked darker now, brown on the white paint. There was police tape in certain areas, outlines, but otherwise, nothing seemed different.

"What're we supposed to be looking for?" Ali hissed in a whisper, her irritation clearly mounting.

Suddenly, the TV turned on and Ali jumped backwards into Emily, grabbing her arms. Emily tensed, too, but nothing happened. The TV was black for a moment before it shifted into color, and a news segment played.

" _It's a development hardly anyone can believe,"_ a female news anchor started, looking grave as she sat behind a black and mahogany desk. _"The video was posted to multiple social media platforms, from multiple accounts, and even though it's been taken down repeatedly, it's now become viral."_

Then, the television paused and something else played. It was black and slightly blurry, grainy from lack of light. But then there was motion, two shadows moving. It became eerily familiar to Emily, like something from a dream.

" _Emily_ ," she heard a voice say, long and drawn out, but unmistakable.

 _Oh, shit,_ she thought. She knew what this was, but she still couldn't believe her fucking ears. And judging by the way Ali's shoulders immediately tensed under her fingertips, Ali knew what it was, too. She shifted away from Emily, towards the TV, getting a closer look.

" _Emily_ ," it said again, this time breathier, choppy, and Ali raised her hands to her face, covering her mouth.

" _Don't stop."_

"Oh my God," Ali blurted out.

She leaned forward quickly to turn off the TV, but it didn't work. She became frantic, repeatedly slamming it, searching, hitting any button she could find.

But the news anchor droned on.

" _Unfortunately, that's all our network is able to show, but one thing has become clear. The relationship between Alison DiLaurentis and Emily Fields is not what we thought. Which beg the questions… is Alison DiLaurentis guilty after all?"_

"Shut up!" Ali shouted, standing again, pulling at strands of her hair, pacing in front of the TV. Emily merely stood still, too shocked to believe it could be real.

" _Is Emily Fields innocent? Or in it with her?"_

Then, the image paused again, white words appearing on a black screen. Emily could hear Alison breathing angrily, like she might literally explode with rage.

 _ **Who is playing who?  
Don't forget, sis. She'll never love you.  
-C**_


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N:** Sorry about the confusion with the last chapter and my stories! I really appreciate everyone who reached out to me directly, you are all lovely individuals. Also, a personal thanks to arcaneghost for helping me with so many random book questions! I hope you all enjoy the new chapter.

* * *

After the TV switched off, the room was silent. Emily remained still, very much in shock, trying to think of what to say, what to do, but feeling paralyzed at the same time.

 _That… that played on television_ , she thought. _For everyone to see._

It was too strange to be real. Sure, Emily had been through her share of media attention, cameras shoved in her face, rude questions hurled at her with prying microphones, but nothing like _that_. Nothing so vulnerable, so deeply personal.

Before she had a moment to recover, though, Ali turned on her heel and glared, sharp as knives.

It had been awhile since Emily had seen that look, that deranged, burning look. The look that made Emily want to recoil as if from a poisonous odor or an imminent attack. The only look of Alison DiLaurentis that Emily had known before she'd abducted her from the hospital.

"Did you do this?" she accused in a hiss, stepping towards Emily. "Did you help her?"

 _What?_ Emily thought, her face the portrait of confusion.

"Help who? Paige?" she defended hotly. "How the hell would I have helped her?"

Ali took another step closer, her hands tightly balled.

"You were talking to _her_ ," she snapped in a breath. "What did you say?"

"Might I remind you," Emily growled back, nose to nose with Alison now. "I didn't sleep with you because I wanted to record it and share it with the world. I slept with you because _you_ drugged me."

But Alison didn't look convinced. She still looked furious, her cheeks red, her eyes wild.

"Why would I do this, Alison?" Emily continued, feeling a bit of a craze herself. A sex tape, a fucking sex tape, was on national television, starring she and Alison. "You think I'd want this? This affects me too."

"How Emily?" Ali shot back, her voice rising, her teeth white and bared. "Everyone already knew _you_ wanted to fuck _me_."

Emily simmered at that while Ali turned away for a moment before rearing back, her face contorted.

"This totally SCREWS my case," she shouted. "This SHATTERS my image. They're supposed to think you're obsessed with me, not that it's mutual."

Again, Emily remembered those whispered words in the night.

" _I'm obsessed with you, honey."_

"So, you were trying to do that," she bit back. "You were trying to make people think I had some crazy obsession with you."

"DUH, EMILY!" Ali replied in high pitched exasperation. "No one is going to believe that you held me against my will and tortured me if we are right there FUCKING."

"Alison," Emily started, feeling her temper flare, her jaw clenching hard, but she didn't quite know how to continue.

Because none of this was new. She'd already known the angle Alison was trying to play in the court room. She knew Ali wanted to turn the media, hell, the whole fucking world against her. But it was one thing to know it and to have Alison say it out loud.

But Ali interrupted her before she could finish.

"What the FUCK!" she screamed, turning again, but this time picking up a glass from the table and hurling it against the wall.

Emily watched as it shattered into pieces, the sound deafening, but Alison merely started pacing across the room angrily, far from done.

"I need a phone," she said in a bit of a manic air. "I have to look at the damage this has caused. I'm going to fucking KILL her, I swear to God. She is fucking DEAD."

Emily knew it was a figure for speech for most people, but for Alison DiLaurentis, she meant it. Ali pulled at the ends of her blonde hair before pressing her fingers hard against her scalp. It was surreal, almost, for Emily to witness. She had seen her friends go through various incarnations of this reaction. This is exactly what A had done to them, and what "C" was now doing to Alison.

She couldn't help but feel a glimmer of self-righteousness, that Alison was finally getting a taste of what she deserved.

"This whole thing has been a mistake," Ali continued her tirade, oblivious to Emily. "I should've turned her ass in when she came to the jail. I should've screamed when you came to the hospital. Now everything is ruined. Everything is totally FUCKED."

Emily continued to watch her warily, as if Ali were a loose, feral creature. A big one. With large claws.

"It's you," Ali said, throwing another dark and dangerous glance Emily's way. "I wouldn't have done any of this if it weren't for you."

"I had nothing to do with this," Emily said honestly, her tone as aggressive as Ali's.

But Ali's eyes only narrowed, and she stepped closer to Emily again. Her lips blew a puff of air onto Emily's face as she said,

"Whatever."

Then she turned towards the door, and Emily immediately knew what she was about to do. Ali was going to bail on her, like she always did. Ali was going to run.

So, Emily took two steps forward and caught her mid stride, jerking Ali back roughly by the arm. She had the gun out, too, pointed towards the floor.

"You're not going anywhere, Ali," Emily informed her in a mercilessly calm tone. "You're not in charge here."

"The hell I'm fucking not—" Ali started, but Emily wrenched her arm harder, pulling her close, making Ali gasp.

"You don't know what it's like to be one of us," she continued. "You haven't been on this side of the game. You're used to sitting in a room somewhere watching the damage play out exactly how you planned, and this isn't like that."

"Let go of me," Ali snapped, yanking back.

"Why?" Emily challenged, gripping her harder. "So, you can walk out that door and get nabbed instantly by the police? You know your defense is screwed. And I'll turn on you in court. I'll tell them whatever it takes to get you behind bars. You walk away now, and you have nothing."

Ali still looked feverish, furiously at Emily. Emily could feel the heat of her skin from the fingers she held tightly around her upper arm, but Alison was listening. Emily could see a hint of fear behind her eyes.

"Clearly Paige has created a little ride for us, and she's already a few steps ahead," she said. "We need to stay together, so that we can reach the end. We need to play along."

"Why?" Ali snarled.

"So, we can kill her."

Ali closed her mouth, taking a deep breath through her nose. Emily could see the scenario playing out in her mind. She knew Ali wanted that. Badly.

"And frankly," Emily said, dropping Ali's arm, clutching the warmed metal of the gun's grip. "You don't have a choice. I'm not letting you out of my sight, so you can paint another bullseye on my back."

The room was quiet for a moment while Ali rubbed her arm, eyes still needlelike and glaring at Emily.

"I don't trust you," she hissed.

"Well, back at you, Alison," Emily sighed with a roll of her eyes.

She sighed and looked around the room, wondering if there was anything they should take before leaving. She turned back towards the television, her eyes gazing downward. There was another envelope sitting on the coffee table. Another 'You' written on the front. Emily reached to pick it up, but Alison was already there, tearing it out of her grasp.

"Jesus, Ali," Emily said, but Ali ignored her. She ripped the letter open, and Emily watched two rectangular objects flutter to the floor. As Ali read, Emily picked them up. They were two train tickets. Back to Rosewood.

"Great," Emily said under her breath. She looked at Ali, who was reading an unfolded note, a perturbed pinch to her eyebrows.

"This fucking bitch," she grumbled, shoving it into Emily's hands. Emily's eyes read over the strange handwriting, the same as last time.

 _I bet you really want to find me now,  
But sadly the only way to talk to me is through devoted prayer.  
Tell me, sis, how many people will come to your funeral?  
_ _ **-C**_

* * *

After touching up their disguises, they headed to the train station and boarded without incident. Once they moved passed the ticket checker, Ali led Emily to a secluded spot in the back and slumped into a chair. The blue checkered lining of the seat looked worn. The train smelled somewhere between slicked metal and old laundry. No one was looking at them. And when the train finally lurched forward several minutes later, a somber sounding train whistle pierced the air, and they were moving.

It was loud, a little jarring at first. Emily hadn't ridden trains much in her lifetime, she didn't realize they shook and rattled so much. She wasn't totally sure where to look. She didn't want to look at the other passengers and seem too paranoid, too watchful, but she also didn't want to look at the thing, the person, that continued to capture her attention recently. But, it seemed, her eyes had a will of their own, and she found herself staring at Alison anyway.

She watched the blonde's sharp gaze scan the crowd before shifting through the window and out onto the city. And, after watching her long enough, eventually the scenery changed, and Ali's crystal blue eyes moved steadily over the snow covered landscape, her arms crossed in front of her chest.

She'd been quiet, sulky since they left the apartment. Which Emily supposed she preferred over Ali throwing and breaking things, but she still wondered what the blonde was thinking. Emily was torn. She was wary because she felt Ali was most dangerous when she was concocting a plan, but also… she felt empathetic? Emily could remember how angry she'd been when she'd been outed in high school. It had been public and embarrassing. It had been her first experience with strangers sensationalizing her personal life, and she'd hated it.

But is that what it felt like for Alison?

Honestly, Emily didn't know what _anything_ felt like for Alison. Did she see it like she'd been 'outed?' Was Alison even gay or bisexual? Did she only do what she did to torture Emily? And then she only cared because of the ramifications it had for her case?

Regardless, Emily knew it must be killing her. Alison was, after all, a control freak to rule control freaks. She had caught her stealing furtive glances at TV's they'd passed, newspaper and magazine covers. Emily knew she was desperate to see and watch the reactions online. But then, Emily thought, Ali deserved this. Shouldn't she feel happy? Vindicated?

Maybe Emily would feel those things if this hadn't involved her, too. It's not like she wanted anyone to know she had slept with Ali. _Twice_ now. And now everyone knew. Strangers she hadn't even met knew. They'd seen something Emily wasn't sure if she could ever watch herself. It was totally mortifying.

So, she tried not to think of it, watching the landscape pass by. It was oddly hypnotizing, and if Emily let her might wander just right, it all felt like this could all be a dream, a dream she could just wake up from. Some unspeakable nightmare.

 _Just wake up_ , she thought as she felt her eyes drifting closed.

But then Alison interrupted her daze.

"I just don't get it," she said quietly.

"Get what?" Emily whispered back after a moment, her eyes fluttering back open.

"Why she would put," Ali took a frustrated sounding breath, " _that_ online?"

Emily paused before answering, feeling like it was a little obvious.

"She just wants to hurt you, Ali."

"But she could've done that in any way," Ali argued. "She could've physically hurt me at the club. The copy cat only killed Ali-cats before, but this is different. This feels weirdly personal."

"I don't know," Emily sighed, not totally sure. It did feel personal. "Maybe she's trying to do things to you that you did to us."

"I never put a sex tape of yours on the internet," Ali pointed out, her eyes sliding off of the snowy banks and coming to rest on Emily's face.

Emily shrugged slightly.

"Well, A outed me in high school. She spread pictures around the school of Maya and I kissing."

"But that wasn't me," Ali reiterated, a grind to her teeth.

Emily only shrugged again, picking at her jeans.

"It's just not fair," she replied, slamming her head back in a huff, staring at the empty seat in front of them. "That was only to your school and your parents, not the whole fucking world."

"A isn't fair Ali," Emily said carefully, Ali's eyes sliding back to her. "You of all people should know that."

"Well, this isn't A," Ali replied sharply, shifting her attention angrily back out of the window. "This is some asshole, a cheap copy of the original."

Emily pursed her lips, not going to argue with that.

They were quiet for a moment while Emily continued to think, Ali's eyes back to flickering over the trees and mountains.

"Maybe Paige didn't know that wasn't you in high school. Maybe she didn't know who was you and who was Mona."

Ali looked back at Emily.

"If it was Paige, though, why would she sign them like this?" Ali asked, holding up the note, a trim fingernail on the letter _C._

Emily considered her next words carefully. She knew it would really piss Alison off, but she figured it warranted mentioning.

"What if it's Courtney?" she asked, not meeting Ali's gaze.

"Courtney is _dead_ ," Ali said sharply as Emily looked up into a pair of hard blue eyes.

"What if—" Emily started.

"I watched her die," Ali cut her off harshly.

Emily sighed and didn't finish her thought. She saw the image of that in her mind. Of Alison looking down into a dank, dark hole in the ground, of Courtney laying dead at the bottom.

"Then, whoever this is," Emily said quietly, "knows that she's a button for you."

"Courtney is _not_ a button for me," Ali said in a mocking tone, but Emily could see the flash of rage cross her beautiful features. "And, even if she was, there's no way Paige would know that."

"She was an Ali cat?" Emily suggested. "I'm sure she knew everything about you."

"Not that I hated Courtney," Ali growled.

"You murdered her, Alison," Emily replied with a roll of her eyes. "I think that's implied."

Ali's shook her head, still annoyed.

"It still doesn't make sense. The letters are different. Paige wouldn't know the things I said to you."

"Like I said, maybe it's not Paige. Maybe it's your new 'sister.' She's also a 'C.'"

"It's not fucking CeCe, for the last time," Ali ridiculed angrily.

"We were in her apartment."

"So, what?"

"I'm just saying," Emily continued despite Ali's aggression. "It would've been easy to set you up. If she's not working with her, Paige _is_ working with someone, someone who did knows things about you."

Ali made a grumbling noise and looked back out the window. Emily watched her sharp, but somehow fine profile. Her eyes dropped to the note Ali still held in her hand.

"What do you make of this?" she asked, causing Ali to look back at her. She gestured to the note. Ali sighed.

"I think she's talking about Courtney's funeral."

"At Rosewood Abbey?"

Ali nodded. "I don't want to see that place again."

"You were there?"

Ali held Emily's gaze for a moment, but otherwise didn't answer. Emily didn't necessarily want to see that place again either.

* * *

Shortly after, they arrived in Rosewood. It made Emily's adrenaline spike, she knew their chances of getting recognized would be much higher here. She also felt a twinge at the idea of what her family was doing, of what they thought, of if they missed her. But then she felt a hard feeling settle over her. They'd never cared before, and they didn't care now.

After the doors slide open, Emily and Alison made their way off the train and, after arguing briefly about the best way to get to Rosewood Abbey, they settled on waiting for night and paying for a taxi.

The hours passed tortuously slow for Emily as they waited inside. Ali had resumed her thoughtful silence, and Emily was feeling completely exhausted, slightly detached, and a little annoyed. She didn't want to be back in Rosewood. She'd never wanted to be back in Rosewood. Fortunately, though, once dusk settled over the sky, the journey was not that far from the station. Rosewood Abbey was actually near the town square, but outside of the popular walking and parking areas.

She was sure this was something '-C' had taken into account. She probably didn't want them getting caught before their little game played out.

On the way, the driver thankfully didn't take much notice of them. So, once they were parked outside the church, Emily shoved a twenty dollar bill in his hand before he could open his mouth. The less attention, the better. Then, they were both standing on an empty sidewalk in front of the gothic building. The stained glass looked dark, the steeples high and penetrating against the overcast, snowy sky.

Emily looked around. They were alone apart from the snow. It was several feet high in the parking lot. Everything looked powdery and fluffy. Like a thick blanket had been dropped over the church and its surrounding grounds. It looked sleepy, peaceful.

Nothing like the reason they were here.

Steeling herself, Emily walked up the pathway to the double doored entrance, careful not to slip on the ice. She pulled, but there was only a resistance, a loud metallic clanking.

"It's locked," she said to Alison, who stood behind her, breath foggy in the cold night.

"Let's go around to the back," she said, walking back down the path.

Emily trailed behind the blonde, pressing her hands under her arms as they rounded the building. It was also still snowing lightly, and Emily wished, not for the first time, that she'd dressed more warmly. Or even had access to proper winter attire. She wondered if the next time she'd have a nice jacket would be in a jail cell or free from charges. She prayed for the latter, looking up at a wall of haunting stained glass.

"Here's a door," Ali said, wrapping her small fingers around a handle on the side of the building, but Emily stopped her.

"What if this isn't the right place?" she asked. "If there's an alarm and the cops come, we're in trouble."

"I thought you said we didn't have a choice," Ali replied sourly.

Emily grimaced, still unsure if she wanted to gamble getting caught.

"This is the only church in town," Ali continued, turning the knob. The door was open. "This has to be it."

Emily removed her hand and let Alison enter. It was pitch black inside. She followed the blonde, keeping her hand on Ali's hip, not wanting to lose her in the dark. Ali seemed to not notice or not care, blindly searching for a way out of the anterior side room. She tried another door, and when it opened, they could both see a warm, orange light. It looked like candles, and they moved towards them.

As they got closer, Emily realized they were in the main sermon area. A dozen or so candles were lit at the front, casting ghostly shadows that flickered across the walls and high backed, wooden pews.

"I don't think someone would've left these lit," Emily said, feeling that familiar discomfort, that dread that always seemed to precede something horrible that A did.

Alison didn't seem to be listening though. She was looking out at the pews.

"You sat right there," she said, pointing to a pew up in the front. "with them. Do you remember?"

Emily glanced back at the pew and nodded. How could she forget Courtney's funeral? The marble floors, the high ceilings. The smell of incense that had been stronger then, but faded now.

"Spencer cried," she said.

She wasn't sure why she shared this with Alison. It had just been weird at the time because… Spencer never cried. She looked back at Ali, but the blonde's face was muted, unresponsive.

"Was it weird to watch your own funeral?" Emily asked, stepping out towards the pews, running her hands over the glossed wood.

"Yes," Alison replied, her voice sounding small in the giant room. "But it still felt like hers. She always had a way of taking things from me."

She watched Ali's eyes trail to a large, partially cracked door behind her, at the back of the church.

"Where does that go—?" Alison started to say, but then, there was a far off voice. It seemed to come from behind the door.

"Alison?" it said in a cry, in a pained animal voice.

But Emily's mouth dropped open. It sounded like—it sounded like Courtney

But it couldn't be.

"Ali—wait," Emily said in a warning, jumping back up the crossing steps.

She was too late, though, Alison was already sprinting towards the door, flying through.

Emily breathed hard as she closed the distance, about to run through the door as well, when it swung towards her, fast and heavy.

She barely had time to put an arm up before the door slammed into her face. She felt a hard edge hit her mouth. She yelped and fell backwards with the momentum, sliding across the marble floor, the wind knocked out of her.

She was confused at first, disoriented. She thought she tasted blood.

"Ali?" she asked, opening her eyes, breathing erratically, attempting to scramble back onto her hands.

But Alison wasn't standing above her. It was a figure dressed in all black. She couldn't see a face in the dark, only a menacing pose.

"We finally meet," it said. "As we truly are."

"Paige?" Emily asked in recognition of the woman's voice, but the figure didn't move, didn't acknowledge her question.

Then, her senses picked up on something else, something that emanated from behind Paige, from behind the door. She knew that smell, she would know it anywhere. Gasoline. Burning. Fire.

"What did you do?" she gasped, trying to control her breath.

But the figure sprinted off to Emily's left. Emily was ready though, crouching low and jumping after her.

Paige was quick, but Emily was quicker. She caught up with her just before the pews and body slammed her into the ground. Paige was reaching to pin Emily, but Emily's training kicked in and she quickly had the other girl in a head lock.

Paige flailed in her grasp, gurgling and wheezing.

"What's the big deal?" the brown haired girl heaved, struggling to breathe, fingers attempting to peel Emily's arm away from her neck. "I thought you'd be happy."

Emily squeezed harder, working to hold the position. Paige kicked out, pushing Emily flat onto her back, her head banging into a pew leg.

"Happy?" Emily panted with a groan. "With that fucking sex tape?"

"You did it, not me," Paige hissed.

They continued to scramble, but Emily repositioned her hold, choking Paige. Soon, she'd be out just like the police officer from the hospital.

"Where's CeCe?" she asked

"You just," Paige replied, fighting to get the words out, "going to let your girl burn?"

Emily released Paige at that, angling her head back over her shoulder to look at the door. She saw flames licking the wood.

"Fuck," she said, getting to her feet.

She raced back through the nave of the church, towards the door. It must lead to the tower, she thought. She felt the heat immediately hit her as she swung it open, like a gust, a physical presence. Flames were already climbing up wooden stairs, and Emily gasped, rushing forward, her sleeve covering her mouth. As she climbed the steps, she shouted for Ali, but there was no reply.

Finally, she approached a landing. Smoke was billowing up past her and she scanned the area, but it was so dark. She wasn't going to have long before she went unconscious. She had to find Alison.

Her eyes swept past large, glistening church bells, and then they fell on a figure.

"Alison!" she said, running over to her.

Ali sat, knees to her chest, her head between them, rocking herself. She had something in her hand, it was black and plastic.

"It was a trick," she said, looking up at Emily. She didn't look like herself. She held up the object. It was a tape recorder. "It wasn't her."

Emily almost wanted to yell at her because they had bigger problems than her dead fucking sister. Wood crackled and snapped beside them. The smoke was getting thicker, making it hard to see.

"There's a fire, Ali, we have to get out of here," she said, shaking Ali's shoulders.

Ali made no attempt to move, though, looking paralyzed.

"I can't go near that," she said in a panic. "I can't go through that again."

"Ugh, god damn it," Emily said under her breath.

She stood up, looking sharply around the room. There were several large windows, all stained glass. She hurled herself against one of them, her shoulder slamming hard against the glass. It groaned but didn't break. So, she kicked it repeatedly until it split open and shattered. She threw a quick look downwards, two maybe three stories, but there was a large tree beneath them, covered in snow but still looking jagged, painful to land on.

Beggars couldn't be choosers.

She turned back to Alison, the heat now stinging her eyes. She scooped her up, hands under her thighs. She looked at her blonde hair, her heart-shaped face, her kissable lips. She remembered her, just like this, without the scar, in a fire once before.

" _You are such a loser, Emily."_

But Ali didn't say that here, coughing, wrapping her arms around Emily's neck.

"What are you doing?"

"Pray," Emily said.

Then, with Ali in her arms, she jumped out of the window.

 **Drama! M-rated scene next chapter. Can you guess where? Can you guess HOW? Let me know if there's anything you want to see.**


	13. Chapter 13

What happened next for Emily was fast. She'd jumped off a fair share of diving boards in her life, so she should've expected the quickness of the fall, but it still felt like one second she was in the air, and a split second later, she was on the ground.

Of course, it wasn't that simple though. The several dozen tree branches she crashed through whipped every square inch of her skin, but at least they'd broken her fall (even if it felt like they'd broken her body.) Then, she hit something soft (something soft-ER, at least), and the weight she'd been carrying rolled away while her body lay still in the snow.

When she came to, she was face down, her nose and cheeks cold. She groaned out loud, trying to lift her head, but not quite managing. She flexed her fingers against the snow, it was deep. It must've cushioned her landing, for what little that mattered. But at least she was alive.

Trying to move a little more, she felt a sharp, piercing pain through the numbness. She tried to locate the source, testing her limbs, but nothing seemed broken. Her back and ribs, however, they _hurt_. She sucked in a breath, and it felt like a hot knife through butter, slicing through her tendons and stabbing her directly in the chest.

She cried out at the sensation and stopped struggling. She could barely breathe without pain. So, she didn't fight it and resigned to just lay there shivering. After a moment, though, she remembered what she'd been doing.

"Alison?" she asked, her breath fogging into the night sky. She'd forgotten about her. Was she still here? Did she drop her? Was she okay?

"Oh my God," a voice said in reply.

But it wasn't Alison's.

"Oh my God, are you okay?" it said again.

Emily peeled her eyes open, turning her head. A man stood before her, looking spindly and white faced. His eyes kept glancing at the billowing smoke above, flowing freely from the broken church window.

"I was just driving by," he continued in a panic. "I thought I saw something come out of that window, but I wasn't sure. Is that—is that a fire? Were you in there?"

Emily felt a disoriented by the whirlwind of questions. Maybe she had hit her head? She reached up to feel for blood or bumps, propping herself up on her elbow.

"Please—please let me help you," he said, reaching for her arm.

He seemed a little hysterical, but well meaning. Despite that, something told her to resist, but it was too late, he was already pulling her upright. She tried to turn her face as he did so, but he looked her square in the eyes and paused.

Emily knew that look. She'd been getting it for years. Walking down the street, shopping at the grocery store, going to her community college classes.

He knew who she was.

"You're—you're Emily Fi—" he started to say.

He didn't finish. Something grey and shiny flew in a half arc behind him, and then there was a dulled, painful sounding thump. He slumped forward, rolling to the side, laying as Emily had only moments before. She saw a spot of red by his ear, staining the pristine white snow.

She looked up to see a figure standing over him, looking black in the night, face half obscured. The figure raised the gun.

"Wait," Emily managed to say in a breath, a hand up to stop Alison from pulling the trigger.

Ali's outreached arm wavered briefly, enough for Emily to know she had heard her. She could see Ali's blue eyes then, considering Emily in the darkness as the snow fell lightly.

"He recognized you," she said.

"You hit him in the head," Emily countered, feeling a sharp pain through her ribs as she held her hand up. "He won't remember."

Alison didn't lower the gun, her face looking hard, unconvinced. It made Emily afraid to move, afraid to breathe. It felt like she was seeing Ali again for the first time, like she had been dealing with a captive animal, a tame killer, that was now out of its cage and acting on instinct.

"I don't want to risk that," Ali replied, raising her arm again and pointing the muzzle of the gun.

"We can say—we can say Paige did it," Emily said in a rush. "After we catch her, after we kill her—the cops won't know."

Ali looked from Emily to the man and back again.

"Paige was here?"

Emily nodded, feeling terribly out of her depth. Alison had the gun. Emily was currently hurt, helpless. She could do whatever she wanted. As Ali looked between them again, Emily could tell she was thinking, maybe of killing this man and even Emily, too. Then, she could vanish back into the dark void that she'd come from, and no one would ever find her.

"Just don't—" Emily started.

"Why do you care?" Ali cut her off, her honeyed voice stark against the quiet night. "How is this any different from what you've done?"

"He's innocent, he was just trying to help."

It was all Emily could muster.

Ali stared at her for what felt like minutes, her breaths rising in hot puffs in front of her. Then, as the sounds of sirens spilled into the night, closer and closer, Ali surprised her. She crouched downwards and then turned her back, walking away.

"Are you coming or what?" she asked over her shoulder, a jingle of keys in her hand as she unlocked a car door.

* * *

Emily sat in the passenger seat as Alison drove. Ali had put the gun in the cup holder, and Emily kept glancing at it. Should she try to get it? Even if she did, the pain in her ribs was too acute. She wasn't sure if she could realistically make a grab for it, much less use it. All Alison would have to do is poke her hard in the ribs, and she'd crumble. It felt like her entire back was a bruise.

So, she decided against it, eager not to give Alison another reason to reconsider keeping her alive. Ali sent her occasional sideways looks, like she knew what Emily was thinking, but Emily only sighed, wincing.

"Where are we going?" she asked, looking at the thickening tree line as Alison turned down a lonely, curving road.

"A lake house," Ali answered.

"What lake house?"

"Does it matter?"

Emily rolled her eyes. It probably didn't. She didn't care where they were going, anyway. Only that she could get out of this car and keep pressure off her back.

After ten more minutes, Alison pulled the car off the road, driving it bumpily into the forest. Emily shot her a questioning look when they came to a stop, Ali killing the engine.

"It's not far," Ali explained with an appraising look at Emily's face, a glance at her back. "Can you make it?"

Emily nodded, and Ali threw open the door.

"You can take the gun," Ali said with annoyance, peering at Emily over the driver's seat. "I know you're dying to."

Emily looked at it in the cup holder again while Alison slammed the door. She left the gun there, just not caring any more at this point, and opened her own door, plunging her shoes into a snow drift. She rounded the car and followed Ali, trudging through the snow, her pants and sneakers quickly becoming drenched.

After a few minutes, a house materialized on the edge of the woods. She gazed up at it, noting the familiar slant of the roof, the big white front door.

"This isn't just any lake house," she muttered.

"Yeah, yeah," Ali replied acidly in return.

The house was sprawling, splendid. There was a long, ornate concrete driveway that led to an entryway that was two stories tall and lined with large bay windows. Emily had been here a few times, of course, but never in the winter. It looked pretty and quaint with the snow and, fortunately, it also looked vacant.

"Let's go to the side," Ali directed. "There aren't cameras, but there's an alarm."

"Do you know the code?" Emily asked, approaching the side door and spotting an alarm box.

Alison gave her a look that said, _who do you think I am?_ , and pushed in front of her. Emily caught her vanilla scent mixed with smoke and tried not to breathe in. Unaware, Ali flipped open the keypad and punched in a sequence of numbers. The light flashed green and, once inside, they both shivered in a long hallway.

Emily looked around, but there wasn't much to see. The house was quiet without the hum of electricity. Peaceful, even if it was a bit dark. Ali peered into the living room before turning back to Emily.

"Looks like no one's here," she said.

"I'm guessing we can't turn the heat on?" Emily asked, rubbing her arms, glancing down at her wet clothes.

"Probably not," Ali answered, looking just as miserable. "But I do have an idea."

"Are you going to strip down again?" Emily asked sarcastically. "Use your body heat?"

"Like you were complaining," the blonde replied with a lifted eyebrow.

Then, to Emily's surprise, she began to pull off her shirt.

"I was kidding."

Ali only rolled her eyes, dropping her shirt onto the floor.

"We may not be able to heat the air, but we can heat the water," she said, turning away and walking down a hallway. "I doubt they're tracking that."

Emily shrugged (it hurt) and followed her to the first floor bathroom. Alison shut the door behind them and removed the rest of her clothes. It took Emily longer as she gingerly peeled her shirt away from her stinging skin, giving Alison time to turn on the water and step into the hot shower.

While steam slowly filled the room, Emily glanced through the foggy glass at Alison's form. She was running her hands over her face and hair, and it made Emily breathe a little more shallowly, a little more painfully.

"Are you coming?" Ali asked, sounding too innocent.

Emily hesitated, changing her weight from foot to foot. Honestly, she was wary about sharing the shower with her. She'd be naked, vulnerable, and it wasn't like the shower was even that big. They'd be close. Wet. It looked like one of those fancy showers, too, the type with a rainwater faucet head. But she couldn't exactly say no, she was _freezing_.

So, she sighed, sliding open the glass door. Alison stepped backwards to accommodate her, and Emily kept her eyes averted from that blue gaze, unsure whether to give the blonde a view of her front or her back. She ultimately decided on the front, thinking she'd prefer to see Alison. Once the water hit her though, she hissed, grimacing at the contact. It stung everywhere. She tried to hide the scratches all over her arms but the water burned, and she could only stand there, eyes closed, teeth clenched in pain.

Emily could hear Alison draw nearer and opened her eyes, about to step back, but Ali stopped her a hand on her upper arm. She traced her fingers over the scratches and then turned Emily to see her back.

"Oh, honey," she said in a mournful voice. "You're all black and blue."

Ali ran a delicate fingerpad over the bruises, and Emily tried not to jump from the brief stab of pain, the blonde's proximity, and the heat in the shower water.

"I think you broke a rib."

"You think?" Emily answered sarcastically, moving backwards out of the shower stream and away from Alison.

She took the moment to look over Ali's equally exposed body as Ali pushed a hand through her hair, looking unperturbed. From what Emily could tell, she had one scratch on her arm, and that was it. The rest of her skin looked milky white, _perfect_ as always. Emily grumbled, why did she _always_ have to take the brunt of the trauma?

Alison watched her cautiously, reaching for the shampoo. She began washing her golden hair, and Emily stayed still, feeling awkward as Ali ran her hands over her neck, her chest, and wondering if her uneven breaths were still from the pain. Emily didn't have time to find out, though, because after Ali finished, she took Emily's hand and pulled her back into the shower stream. She didn't resist, allowing Alison to gently run her hands over her arms and legs, the blood and dirt and grime swirling down the drain. Then, she put more shampoo in her hand and began washing Emily's hair, too.

Emily closed her eyes, feeling Alison's fingers pressing over her scalp, flinching occasionally when she passed over a bump or a bruise. When she opened her eyes again, Ali was closer, watching her intently. She tilted Emily's head back, exposing her neck, washing the shampoo out of her hair. Emily tasted the shower water running down her face. She licked her lips, and Ali looked down at her mouth, reaching her hand up to Emily's jaw as she tilted her neck back to level.

"You have a bruise there," she said, touching Emily's lip with a finger.

"Paige hit me with the door," Emily explained.

Alison moved forward, replacing her finger with her lips, touching them softly to Emily's. It was gentle, sweet intentioned, but Emily could still feel the pressure, its firmness. It reminded her of the first time Alison kissed her, back in high school.

" _Well, I got my wish,"_ she'd said.

Their mouths fit as perfectly together now as they did then. Even with the pain, even with her lingering anger, Emily couldn't resist as Alison's lips slid over hers. She fell in time, their tongues and bodies moving in sync. She couldn't help but admit that she missed the taste of Ali, whose hands fell to Emily's shoulders. As they did, Emily brought her in deeper, feeling the slide of the water as their lower halves pressed together. Ali moaned airily, wrapping her arms around Emily's back. As she dragged her fingers downward, though, she grazed Emily's broken ribs, causing her to pull back sharply with a hiss.

"Fuck Ali," she snapped.

Ali looked taken aback, opening her eyes. Emily could still feel the pain radiating through her back and felt unreasonably angry that Ali had touched her when she knew she was hurt.

"You're not happy unless I'm in pain, are you?"

Ali's surprise turned hard, her brows pinched.

"I was just trying to help, jack ass," she sniped back and threw the door to the shower open.

Emily opened her mouth as she watched the blonde through the clouded glass but ultimately didn't have anything else to say. Instead, she watched her through the open door while Ali ignored her, opening a cabinet door and pulling a white robe on. Then, she pinned her hair up with a clip and stormed out of the bathroom.

Emily groaned out loud, pressing her hands through her hair under the water stream, feeling a wide range of opposing emotions. Guilt for yelling at Ali, arousal from kissing her, and more anger at the fact that _Alison_ was just being _Alison._ Conflicting and confusing and contradictory. When she closed her eyes, she could see Ali at the church, in a fetal ball, unresponsive. Then, she was standing still with the gun, looking everything like the killer Emily had known. And lastly, she remembered the thoughtful way Ali washed her, the gentle press of her lips as she kissed her.

She was never the same. Always different. Always dissonant.

And, frankly, Ali's mood swings were giving her whiplash. She was like some sort of temperamental metal that could explode at the slightest change in environment. It should've scared or even repelled Emily, but it didn't. Instead, she felt like some sort of mad scientist. She wanted to study Ali even though it could kill her, kill them both.

She sighed and finished cleaning her wounds. She turned off the water and found a robe of her own, hoping Spencer wouldn't mind. She made her way towards the kitchen and found Alison there, rooting around in an open drawer. She thought Ali would look up, but she petulantly ignored Emily, her expression still angry.

"What was wrong with you?" Emily asked casually, sidling up to the granite countertop. "Back in the church."

"I said I didn't like fire," Ali replied tersely, slamming the drawer closed and turning to open another one.

"'Don't like' and 'become nonfunctioning' are two different things."

"So what?" Ali challenged, throwing a hard gaze over her shoulder. "Why don't you try getting half your body burned and then see how you react when you smell smoke?"

Emily sighed, watching Ali slam another cabinet door open.

"You put us in danger," she continued, crossing her arms and leaning against the island. "We could've died."

"You should've just left me there if you're so angry," Ali snapped, irritably pushing aside glasses and cups. "I didn't ask you to jump out of a building."

Emily clutched her elbows tighter. She didn't have a smart retort to that.

"Why do you keep saving me?" Ali asked, shaking her head as she closed the cabinet.

Emily wasn't sure if it was a rhetorical question or if Alison intended for her to answer. The blonde merely threw open another cabinet without pause, and Emily gripped the granite, working her jaw, willing herself to say something, anything, but she just didn't know.

Why _did_ she keep saving Alison? Was it a force of habit? Was it pure instinct? Or was it that hard to imagine a world without her? Even the Ali that was cruel, cutting, and hurtful, still looked (and sometimes acted) everything like the girl Emily had once loved. And this time there were no lies, no secrets. She was the real thing, her back turned, the curly blonde hairs looking soft at the nape of her neck. Hairs that Emily had touched, had smelled.

"Is it some sort of sick torture for you?" Ali continued hotly, turning to another cabinet, oblivious to Emily's conflict. "Are you waiting for the perfect moment to let me die?"

"No—" she started.

"God damn it," Alison interrupted. She had almost half the kitchen cabinets open. "Does this family not eat?"

"Ali—" Emily tried again, but Ali cut her off.

"Don't lie to me, Emily," she said with a flash of her cold, blue eyes. "I'm tired of it. I know you think I deserve to die."

Emily couldn't bring herself to hollowly deny it. It was true, to a certain extent. She had thought Ali deserved to die, but obviously something had changed. Emily had jumped out of a two story window, Ali in her arms, for Christ's sake.

Alison impatiently rolled her eyes and bent over to search through another cabinet.

"Finally," she mumbled, rifling through boxes of cereal and snacks.

Emily's eyes followed a water droplet down the back of her knee, her calf. There was something about her that was so hypnotizing and infuriating at the same time. She'd hated her, and she'd loved her. She'd once been the girl of Emily's dreams only to become the girl of her nightmares. She was a twisted and warped version of her Alison, bubbled like plastic above a fire. An angel that had become a devil.

But it wasn't the same now. Emily didn't know how what she saw as Ali stood there in the kitchen. She was dark and damaged, but also something of a puzzle, a mystery Emily wanted to unravel. For instance, why did Ali keep sticking around? Since the beginning, she'd had plenty of opportunities to escape. She could've easily killed Emily earlier. Instead, she was here, cleaning her cuts, foraging for food.

Ali lifted her heel to reach farther inside and Emily saw the warm, steamy footprint she left on the cold floor. It struck her suddenly then, the answer to Ali's question.

"Ali," she said again, rounding the island between them.

When Ali didn't acknowledge her, Emily took her arm, turning her. Alison looked surprised at first, then angry, like she wanted to yank back. She didn't, though, firmly gripping a box of Cheez-Its between them like some sort of strange barrier. Emily sighed, taking it from her and placing it on the counter.

"You might deserve to die," she said, Ali's eyes snapping up to Emily's, her jaw clenching. "But I don't want you to."

Alison looked away resentfully, but Emily put her hand under her chin, forcing her eyes back.

"I want you," she emphasized.

"You wanted her," Ali bit back, shifting her face in Emily's hand.

"She was you. I wanted you."

Emily didn't know how else to say it. She wanted Ali to be making warm footprints on the ground. Anything was better than her being cold and gone like Courtney. So, she cupped Alison's face and told her in the only way she knew how. She kissed her.

Ali made a sound in the back of throat, out of surprise or anger, Emily wasn't sure. Regardless, she caught Emily's robe and kissed back, her tongue snaking into Emily's mouth, sliding addictively and ill controlled.

Emily took a deep breath through her nose, ignoring the pain in her ribs, and pressed further against Ali, hips bumping insistently. She sought Ali's skin with her hands, nudging the robe open and burrowing beneath it. Alison moaned as her fingers roamed, silky soft over her stomach. As they continued to kiss, Emily drank each sound, slowly reaching around to her ass. Ali gasped, their lips parting, and with a soft grunt, Emily lifted her onto the kitchen counter.

Alison's ass slid across the glossy surface, her arms flying back to brace herself. Emily stood between her legs, planting her hands possessively on the tops of Ali's thighs, and pulled the blonde back and further into her.

Emily nuzzled behind her ear, smelling deeply, before licking her way down the column of Ali's neck. Ali's hips jumped, indicating a specific need, so Emily untied the robe, whipping it completely open.

Ali's eyes wavered open, a hand moving into Emily's hair as she lowered herself downward.

"Unnghh," she said as Emily opened her mouth, teased tongue along skin, lips tracing up the inside of her right thigh. Emily pushed her legs farther open.

"Em," she cried out as Emily slid her tongue totally up and through her sex. Emily clutched the top of her thighs harder, probing, using the flat part of her tongue, as Ali's head fell back.

Alison was warm, her skin goosebumped. As Emily continued licking, kissing, she wondered how many people had seen her like this, heard these needy whimpers, choked breaths. Was it a lot? Was it only Nick? She had a feeling that maybe even he hadn't seen it, that this was a side Ali only reserved for Emily. Even if it seemed unlikely, Emily still wanted it to be true.

Emily lifted a thigh to her shoulder, pushing deeper, and all too quickly Ali's legs were quivering while Emily's tongue continued to dance wickedly against her. Even though she could feel Alison orgasming, it was too fast for Emily. She wasn't done.

"Fuck, Emily," Ali said as Emily stood up, pulling Ali in for a kiss. While she did so, she positioned Ali's thigh around her waist and slid two fingers inside her.

Her kiss was returned without much coordination, Ali's mouth gaping open, her back arched. Emily pulled out and sunk deeply, all the while biting gently along her jaw. Ali was making louder sounds now, fingers digging into the cotton of Emily's robe at the base of her neck. Her ass slid back and forth on the slick surface as they moved.

Emily could do this forever.

But after Alison came for the second time, she wanted a change of location. Somewhere warmer. She could see the chill on Ali's skin, a slight fog in the air where they breathed. So, Emily picked her up with a low growl. Alison mumbled something inaudible, reaching back to grab the Cheez-Its, before they headed for the stairs.

* * *

Early the next morning, white light poured in through the master bedroom windows. Emily groaned, she was used to sleeping in total darkness and therefore did not enjoy the intrusion. So, she decided to get up, despite the cold in the room, and close the curtains. However, as her fingers reached the cloth, she stopped. It was snowing outside, large, bright white snowflakes coming down in droves.

She looked up and down, having not noticed the floor to ceiling windows when they'd first come into the room, it had been too dark. And she'd been distracted. But looking through them now, the scene was spellbinding. It was almost as if the room were totally open to the elements, as if the dark, dense trees, the sloping hills, the falling snow, were all right here inside with them.

As she continued to watch, Alison rustled behind her. Emily looked back to see curly blonde hair, fluttering blue eyes. She blearily looked at Emily, then to the wintry scenery outside. The white light reflected in the depths of her eyes, making them look icy and arctic. Emily decided to leave the blinds open, after all, and rejoin her back on the bed, slipping under the sheets. She shivered, she was still naked, and Ali snuggled up close, a hand on her stomach, as they both watched the snow fall.

It was still freezing in the house but it was warm enough for them under the covers. There was a large fireplace across the room that Emily was desperate to use, but she knew Ali wouldn't want anyone to see or smell the smoke.

She glanced down at Ali's hand, which was still creating lazy circular patterns on her stomach. Alison looked up at her then, lips within touching distance. After considering it for a moment, she closed the gap, pulling Emily's bottom lip into her mouth, dragging her teeth across it. Her hands searched over Emily's stomach, following a path to her hip and back. She'd flatten her palm, then brush her fingertips across, feather light, only to then push and pull at Emily's hips again roughly.

Emily was entranced. Her skin felt simultaneously numb and tingly. Hard but yielding. She barely noticed when Ali pulled back to look down, having found a small white line just above her hip bone.

"Did I do this?" she asked after a long moment, her eyes remaining fixed on the scar, flattening her thumb over it.

"Yes," Emily answered, watching her hand.

"When?"

"On the mountain, when you pushed me."

Ali paused slightly, as if remembering. Emily wondered if she would apologize, but she said nothing, continuing her movement.

"Why do you like my scars, Ali?" Emily asked, placing her hand over Ali's to stop her. "Do you like that you did them to me?"

Alison looked up, considering the question, her face still close to Emily's as they lay side by side.

"I didn't do all of them," she pointed out.

"Do you only like the ones that you did?"

"No, it's not that. I guess—," she faltered for a moment. "I guess I like that you're imperfect."

Emily raised her eyebrows, inquisitive. Alison didn't seem to care, moving her hand under Emily's, over the scar again.

"If this hadn't happened," she continued, "you wouldn't be here."

She wondered if Ali meant if she hadn't known her or if she hadn't pushed her down that mountain. Either way, it was true. If she'd lived in a world without A, a world where Alison had never happened, she most definitely wouldn't be here. She wondered idly where she'd be instead, what she'd be like, who she'd be with.

"And where is you think perfect, unblemished Emily would be?" she asked, deciding to voice the thought out loud.

Ali looked up again, her blue eyes lancing.

"With a man," she said with a smirk. "Leading some sort of church group."

Emily snort laughed, making her ribs ache. She wondered if Alison really thought that or if she was just trying to get a rise out of her. Emily reasoned that it was possible, although it would've been horrible. Would she have ended up just like her parents wanted after all?

Maybe she preferred a world where A had been in it, after all.

"Wow, bleak," Emily said, still crinkling her nose at the thought. "And perfect Alison, where would she be?"

Alison looked away at that, not answering immediately. Instead, she averted her eyes back to Emily's hips, stroking her hand over her side, careful to avoid the bruising by her tender ribs.

"I don't think there was ever any perfect Alison," she said quietly.

Emily furrowed her brows. She wasn't sure what to say. So, she copied Alison's motions, caressing her naked side, running her hands up her neck, over her face. With her fingertip, she touched over a small bump at the bridge of Ali's nose.

"Did you break your nose?"

"Yes," Ali answered simply.

"When?"

"The fire," she said, eyes avoidant. "The explosion."

"Did it hurt?" Emily asked.

"There was a lot of blood," Ali replied in a monotone voice, not entirely answering the question. "Everything hurt, honestly."

Emily bent forward and kissed it, the way Alison had kissed her other scars. Alison placed a hand behind her neck, dragging her slowly back to her mouth, searching it out with her tongue. But just as Emily was losing herself again, Ali pulled back, nuzzling her nose.

"Why do you like kissing me?" she asked.

Emily felt herself blush.

"Who said I like kissing you?" she attempted to deflect.

"I can just tell, Em."

Emily snorted again, pulling back from Ali, but the blonde followed her, resting her body partially on top, pinning her to the bed.

"You're so vain Ali, has anyone told you that?"

"Yes," she said with another smirk. "But tell me anyway."

Emily rolled her eyes, attempting to pull away again, but Alison kept her trapped there. Emily stayed silent, though, and when it became clear she wasn't going to get an answer, Ali changed tactics.

"I'll share first if you want."

"You'll tell me why you like kissing me?"

"Uh huh," she said, dropping her mouth close to Emily's, but not quite touching.

"You're smooth," she started, running a hand up her side and stomach again. "You're soft."

Her tongue dipped out, briefly touching Emily's lip. Emily had to stop herself from reaching forward, from proving Alison's point.

"You have delicious lips," Ali said, still ghosting her lips across Emily's. She leaned down, licking at a spot behind her ear. "You taste good."

"Alison," Emily resisted, feeling pain in her ribs as she took a deep breath.

Ali pulled back, letting her eyes linger southward.

"Plus," she added. "You're super sexy naked."

Emily felt her color rise, her skin heat up. Now she really was blushing. Ali moved both hands, enjoying Emily's reaction, and pressed her palms over Emily's breasts.

Emily bit her lip, then, completely forgetting the question. Luckily, Ali reminded her.

"Now why do you like kissing me, Em?" she said in that sultry, raspy voice.

"Uh," she said as Ali reached up to kiss behind her ear again, continuing to work her nipples. She tried to think.

Ali was soft, too. She tasted good. She was sexy. But most girls were. Why was she different? Emily's eyes flicked to the bridge of her nose again, to the scar on her cheek, winding down her neck.

"I like kissing you because you're..." but Emily wasn't sure if she could finish.

 _Because you're Alison DiLaurentis._

Ali pulled back, a smile on her face as if she'd heard the end of what Emily was going to say anyway.

Emily stared at her. Ali smiling, it was surreal. She'd hardly ever seen it. She'd smiled briefly that night on ecstasy, but the rest were smirks, sneers, and jeering laughter. Nothing genuine. Not like this. It was just strange to think that Ali was someone who could smile, who smiled.

Alison the psycho. Alison the killer.

Ali's eyes dropped back to Emily's lips. She lifted a finger again to the bruise Paige left. Emily could taste the cut on the inside of her mouth, tangy and metallic.

"She has no subtlety," she said, kissing the bruise softly.

"Paige?" Emily asked.

" _Her_ ," Ali confirmed with derision. "I can't believe she's the copy cat."

"And why is that?"

"You almost caught her. She's an amateur."

"Missing the glory days, Ali?" Emily asked mockingly.

"I'm just saying," Ali said, her eyes a little more cutting. "She seems new at this. Overexcited."

Emily nodded, moving her focus back to Ali's mouth.

"I still think there's two," she said.

Ali moved in as if to kiss her again, but Emily stopped her, a hand at her cheek. She was thinking about their earlier conversation, back to the perfect and imperfect versions of themselves.

"What were you going to do after being A, Ali?"

"I never thought about after," Ali replied after a pause.

"Why?"

"It just didn't seem like..." Ali started, but trailed away. "There was no going back."

Ali pressed an errant black hair back behind Emily's ear before looking up and back out the window, her eyes looking crystalline again.

"Maybe we should just live here forever," she suggested.

"Pretty sure Spencer's family is going to come back eventually."

"Then, we should leave the country. Travel somewhere exotic. The beach. France."

Emily felt a twinge of sadness. This conversation, it reminded her of Courtney somehow. Courtney had always done this back in 7th grade. She'd always dreamed of being anywhere but Rosewood.

"Where would you want to go if you could go anywhere?" Ali asked, still looking whimsical, glancing down at Emily. She caught her sad expression.

"What?" she asked.

"It's just weird. I used to talk about this kind of thing with—" Emily paused, having caught herself from saying 'Ali.' "Your sister."

Ali rolled her eyes, shifting off of Emily. Emily immediately missed the warmth.

"You said she wasn't a button," Emily said, turning to follow her, resting on her side. "But it seemed like a button at the church."

Ali ignored her, picking at the sheet.

"Why did you hate her so much?"

"I just don't know why there had to be two of us," Ali said tersely. "She always took everything. Even her and Nick had a thing."

She glanced back at Emily, her eyes looking hot like the fire she was so afraid of.

"She was always nicer, always kinder," she continued angrily. "People really liked her."

She heaved a great sigh then, and rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling.

"Maybe she was the perfect version of me," she said with resignation. "Maybe I was never meant to be anything at all."

Emily touched her chin, making Alison look back at her. Her blue eyes were still stormy, still conflicted.

"I just wish we weren't here," she said. "I wish you weren't you and I wasn't me."

Emily leaned forward caressed her face, ran her fingers through her hair.

"We can start over," she suggested.

Ali watched her for a long time, her eyes looking deeply into Emily's. Then, her expression shifted, and she had that sexy, mischievous look back in her eye.

"I want to see you in a dress," she said, maneuvering herself back on top of Emily, straddling her. The sheet fell away from her back. "And make up."

"What else?" Emily asked as she slid her hands to Ali's hips.

"I want to see you with a strap on," she whispered as she bent over Emily, lingering by her ear before licking it.

Emily hummed, thoroughly distracted from hearing the door downstairs or feet on the hardwood floors. She didn't hear the squeak of the stairs or the creak of the door open, but she did hear a voice call her name.

"Emily?"

Alison sat up, holding the sheet to her chest. Emily looked around her to see her best friend standing in the doorway, mouth agape, brown eyes shifting from Emily and Alison in rapid fire.

"Spencer?"

 **Uh oh! What will Spencer have to say?**


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N:** Thanks to everyone who has stuck with this story and keeps letting me know what they think in reviews! I love the feedback. Apologies for the long delay, lots of drama in real life. I know this is a short chapter, but we're going to meet the copy cat very shortly in the next chapter. We'll also see my Captive rendition of Emison at the wishing well.

* * *

Before Spencer had barged into the room, Emily's relationship with Alison had felt like it existed inside of a bubble, a microcosm. Even Spencer's lake house had felt like their own personal snow globe. No one had seem them together. No one had talked to them. It was just Emily and Alison, blocked from the outside world.

But now that Spencer stared down at the pair of them, gaze as sharp and focused as a microscope, her unusual relationship with Ali felt blown wide, naked and exposed.

On top of the fact that Emily was _actually_ naked and exposed.

"Ugh," Spencer groaned out loud, rolling her eyes and turning her back. "Can you _please_ put some clothes on?

Alison watched Spencer as she still straddled Emily, a sheet over her chest. Emily couldn't see her face, but she felt her shift a leg off of her hips and move to stand up. Ali grabbed one of the discarded robes on the floor, a robe that that Emily could still remember taking off, pushing down her shoulders while she left a mark, stinging red, on her neck. She had to push the thought away as Ali slipped it on. She was already inappropriately aroused enough in front of company.

"Hey, sis," Ali said with a smirk, tying the robe tight at the waist.

Emily closed her eyes tight to avoid rolling them completely.

"You are not my sister," Spencer said sharply in return, her eyes lancing to Emily.

"Can I speak to you, Emily?" she said again quickly, her voice hitting a high pitch that Emily knew she reserved only for extraordinary displeasure. "In private."

Emily opened her eyes again and nodded. Taking an awkward gulp, she reached for the other robe and when she looked up, Alison was watching her. Her expression was difficult to read, though. Did she want Emily to tell her to stay? To tell her to go?

When Emily said nothing, merely shrugging herself into the robe and pulling it closed, Ali turned on her heel and padded across the floor, throwing Spencer another especially baleful look. Spencer, for her part, refused to look at the blonde, her eyes trained on a spot in the corner. But once Alison was through the doorway, Spencer whirled, slamming the door shut behind her.

"What the hell are you doing?" she exploded. "Were you just—were you in bed with _her_?!"

Emily felt like that was a redundant question. She was _obviously_ just in bed with Alison, but she still opened her mouth defensively to reply… but to say what?

" _Of course not!"  
"No!"  
"Why would you think that?"  
"It's not what it seems!"_

But, unfortunately, it was exactly what it seemed. Only Emily didn't know where to even begin with how to explain that uncomfortable truth.

"My parents called me, Emily," Spencer continued in a rage. "They said the alarm had been disabled here and asked if it was me. I came here from Princeton! The fire, I thought—I thought you were hurt!"

Spencer threw a hand to her face, looking distraught, her cheeks splotchy and pink. She was wearing a crisp white pea coat with a deep red scarf. Her hair fell straight and dark over her shoulders. She was still wearing her gloves, which looked expensive and couture.

"I thought the video was a fake," she said to no one in particular, dropping the hand again. "I was scared she was hurting you, and instead I find _this_."

Emily flinched at the weight of Spencer's tone. She had never really spoken to Emily this way before. Sure, she'd been the recipient of Spencer's disappointment many times in the past, who hadn't? But still, this felt different. Spencer had always hated Ali on a level, even when they were best friends, but she _especially_ hated Real Ali. Emily did, too, they all did. Right?

She felt conflicted, confused, but more than that, she felt guilty. What was she going to say to Spencer? How was she going to explain her behavior? Tell her that Alison had changed? She hadn't. She was still cold and calculating. A killer. All that had changed were the layers to those qualities. And then the layers beneath those layers. As if she were a very still lake that ran cold and psychotically deep.

"Spencer, you don't understand—" Emily tried to defend with a resigned sigh.

"Of course I don't understand!" Spencer cut her off. "That's fucking A, Emily! She tried to kill you, she tried to kill all of us!"

"I haven't forgotten, Spence," Emily said through gritted teeth, feeling her temper flare.

"She pulled her own fucking teeth out with a pair of pliers!"

"I know what she did, Spence!"

"Are you sure?" Spencer asking angrily. "Is this how you're repaying her? By sleeping with her?"

"No!" Emily shouted, flustered. "This wasn't part of the plan!"

"No shit!" Spencer cried back.

Emily shut her mouth, clenching her jaw tight. She looked away, and Spencer paced angrily in front of her, like some sort of caged, angry lion.

As the silence stretched on, she turned to Emily again, releasing a loud huff.

"Just talk to me," Spencer begged, her voice sounding strained. She pressed a finger to her temple as if trying to ward off a very serious migraine. "Why are you here? Where are you going? What are you doing?"

Emily shook her head, dropping her eyes back to the cushy carpet again, digging her bare feet into the fibers. She had no defense. She had no reasoning.

"I don't know what I'm doing," she admitted quietly.

Spencer's face fell. Emily didn't need to look up to endure its full affect, she could see it well enough in her periphery. She knew Spencer would've liked her to have a plan, any plan, over having _no_ plan. Spencer hated chaos.

"You're in really deep, Em," she said softly. "The police thought you'd kidnapped Ali. Now they're saying you two killed a bar owner and that you're working together."

"We didn't kill anyone," Emily said, pinching the sheets under her fingers.

"But you are working together?"

Emily didn't answer.

"Why didn't you call me?" Spencer asked. "I've been trying to reach you for months."

"You haven't—" Emily started sharply, feeling anger bubbling in her chest. She could feel it in her cheeks, too, burning hot. "You haven't been here. You don't know what it's been like."

"You haven't told me!"

"I can't tell you everything, Spencer," Emily replied heatedly, voice rising. "I mean, look at you."

Spencer glanced down, not understanding, as if trying to find a stain on her clothes that wasn't there.

"You're finally living the life you wanted," Emily explained with a flourish of her hand. "You don't want to hear from me."

"Yes I do, Emily," Spencer argued. "You won't let me in!"

"So, you could do what?" Emily barked. "She wasn't dragging _your_ name through the press. No one was calling you a murderer. Why would you get involved?"

"Because you're my friend!" Spencer shouted again. "One of my best friends. And this is a huge mess, and you said yourself you have no idea what you're doing."

Emily rolled her eyes in frustration while Spencer looked as though she were thinking hard, brows furrowed.

"Is that what this is all about?

"What?" Emily asked insolently.

"Were you going to hurt her? Was it revenge?"

Emily shook her head. Spencer just didn't get it.

"That's not it."

"Then, let's go to the police," Spencer said matter-of-fact. "Explain it all."

"No," Emily said with another frustrated sigh.

Spencer smoldered, her anger crackling. She pressed her lips in a hard line.

"Why not? Are you protecting her?" she accused.

Emily looked away.

"She's manipulating you," Spencer argued. "It's like you're her pitbull again. Her _killer_."

"That's not true," Emily spat back, eyes flashing up. "There's someone else. They're pinning evidence on us."

"Someone _else_?" Spencer cried out in frustration, pacing again. "Another A?"

"Not another A," Emily said. "The copy cat."

Spencer fixed her with a hard gaze.

"So another A."

She kept pacing. Back and forth, back and forth, until Emily was sure she was going to leave burn marks.

"Are you going to turn us in?" Emily asked, clutching the bed sheets again.

"Don't you think I would have already?" Spencer said angrily under her breath.

She kept pacing. Emily wasn't sure if she was relieved by that answer or not.

"They're not going to believe you," she said, chewing on a nail. "Especially not with Alison around. Who the fuck knows what she'll say."

Emily couldn't argue with her.

"She's probably skipped town by now anyway."

"No," Emily said slowly. "Knowing her, she's probably standing right outside the door, listening to everything."

"Wanna bet?" Spencer asked bitterly.

Emily only had time to raise her eyebrows before Spencer turned back to the door and threw it open.

Sure enough, Alison was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, looking porcelain and indifferent.

"Now, that you're here," Ali started coolly. "Can you turn on the heat and electricity? It's freezing."

Emily could see Spencer's jaw clench, even from across the room. She stared at Alison for what felt like an eternity.

"You just make yourself right at home, don't you?" Spencer finally replied, her eyes shooting downwards. "That's my robe."

"What's mine is yours, sis," Ali replied with that same insufferable smirk, digging her hands into the fluffy pockets.

"You're _not_ my sister," Spencer reiterated again.

Ali shrugged, turning to walk down the hallway towards the stairs. Spencer only glared back at Emily, her eyes saying any number of disparaging and judgmental things. Emily took that as her cue to stand while Spencer whipped out her phone. Shortly after, Emily heard the heating kick on.

They followed Ali down the hallway and stairs, back into the living room. Spencer watched the blonde like a hawk, as if at any moment, Ali might strike. Emily guessed it wasn't an unusual response to have, especially after everything they'd been through. They _were_ sisters, too, half at least. Alison had even tried to kill Spencer's real sister, locking her in the closet with her fiancé's corpse.

Ian Thomas. Emily shuddered at that memory. How did she forget these things? Why was her tongue always in the mouth of someone who murdered people? Not just people, their friends.

She felt sick. She was starting to see why Spencer was so disgusted with her.

They all paused in the living room, a large fireplace roaring to life behind them. Emily watched the flames lick the fake logs, wondering if that was controlled by Spencer's phone, too. Ali eyed the fire as well, looking uncertain, before she flashed her cold blue eyes back to Spencer.

"Did you tell anyone you're here?"

Spencer clenched her jaw again, holding Alison's gaze. It reminded Emily of two territorial bucks, about to clash horns.

"No," she replied curtly.

Alison continued to stare, an unspoken challenge to her gaze. She looked so different than this morning. As if a door had completely closed, like no one was home. While Emily could see anguish and hate reflected in Spencer's dark brown eyes, Ali's only looked pale, hardened like stone.

She finally turned away and reached to pick up the TV remote from the coffee table.

"Still obsessed with the news?" Spencer jabbed.

Ali ignored her, flipping through the guide to find the news. It didn't take her long. After a few short commercials segments, the fire at the church blazed brightly on the screen.

" _The two suspects are still at large,"_ said a female reporter, standing in front of scorched rubble. _"The only witness to the fire sustained minor head trauma, but distinctly remembers seeing Emily Fields fleeing the scene."_

Emily watched Ali's head slowly turn, her mouth pinched in irritation.

"Won't remember, you said?"

"It's good that you didn't kill him," Spencer cut in hotly. "He has head trauma. It's circumstantial."

"Sorry, I didn't realize you were a lawyer already, Spence," Ali said scornfully.

"What were you doing there, anyway?" Spencer asked Emily, pointedly disregarding Alison.

"The copy cat," Emily said with a resigned sigh. "They've been leaving clues."

"They?" Spencer asked.

"It's Paige," Ali cut in.

"It could be CeCe, too," Emily argued back.

"Wait, wait—" Spencer said, waving a hand in the air. "Who is Paige? Who is CeCe"

"Paige was a bartender at that club," Emily explained. "She abducted CeCe, the owner, and is making us go on a little treasure hunt to get her back."

"Oh," Spencer said, looking confused. "They've been calling her Charlotte on the news."

Alison glanced back at the television, listening to minor details surrounding the fire.

"Why would _you_ care about getting some club owner back?" Spencer asked her scathingly.

"We know each other," Ali replied boredly.

"They're related."

Ali glanced at Emily, peeved.

"And she hasn't killed her yet?" Spencer mocked. "Shocking."

Emily could see Ali visibly simmer, her cheeks looking less white, a touch of pink.

"Paige was at the church, too," Emily continued, trying to keep the conversation moving. "She started the fire. She left a tape recording for Ali."

"And what did it say?"

"I don't know," Emily answered hesitantly. "We haven't listened to it."

Alison turned, briefly leaving the room. Spencer lifted her eyebrows at Emily, but Emily only shrugged. After a moment, Ali returned with the recorder, and Spencer snatched it from her with a glare for equal measure.

She pressed play.

 _"Alison? Is that you?"_

Emily leaned away from the recorder. It sounded just like her best friend, just like her first love. But Emily knew it wasn't, that it couldn't be. She fought the urge to take the recorder and stop it. Or smash it. She glanced at Alison, who looked like she was struggling with a similar urge.

 _"I guess you found me,"_ the voice continued, but it sounded different now. There was an inhuman quality to it, more granular, indistinct. _"You always did like secret places, didn't you? You liked the dark. You liked the dirt."_

The three girls listened to a long, grainy silence, then a shallow little laugh.

 _"That's good,"_ the voice continued with an eerie, girlish mirth. _"Because that's how I'm going to bury you."_

 _"But not yet,"_ it sing-songed. _"First, I'm going to make a wish about a bad, bad boy. When it comes true, you're going to make a wish, too."_

The tape clicked off.

They all stood there in the silence. Emily hoped they wouldn't play it again.

"Courtney's dead," Spencer said quietly. "And some parts didn't sound quite right. Paige obviously used technology."

Emily nodded in agreement. It did have a strange ring to it, like some sort of weird voice changer.

"Is she that smart?" Spencer directed at Emily.

"No," Ali replied harshly.

Emily rolled her eyes.

"You always underestimate people, Alison," she said with a sigh before turning to Spencer. "She could be that smart. We don't know."

Spencer considered that, thinking hard. Closer up, she looked tired and drawn. Emily wondered how long she'd been awake, how much coffee she'd consumed in the last 24 hours.

"What do you think it means?" Spencer asked.

"The well part," Emily replied. "There's a well on the DiLaurentis property."

"There is?" Alison asked.

"You don't know about that?" Emily asked incredulously. "You lived there."

Ali didn't respond immediately, refusing to acknowledge that there was anything she didn't know.

"How do _you_ know about it?" she asked accusatorily.

"I used to walk out there."

"Really," Ali said, not looking convinced. Spencer watched them skeptically.

"The cops are all over your street."

"I know a way we can get onto it," Ali supplied.

"Of course you do," Spencer said, pushing another stressed hand to her forehead.

"What was that last part?" she added, closing her eyes. "About a bad, bad boy?"

"That could be anything," Emily said.

" _First the sex tape, now this fire, what's next?"_ the TV droned on behind them, causing Ali to glance backwards. _"Emily Fields and Alison DiLaurentis both look like such homegrown girls, it's hard to believe they're really the criminals here."_

It looked like some sort of debate, with multiple commentators seated around a coffee table.

"People actually—" Spencer started, sounding annoyed. She paused, collecting herself.

"People actually support your—whatever this is," she said with a wave of her finger. "Your relationship. They have a name for you."

Emily was about to ask, but Alison beat her to it.

"What is it?" she asked, looking over eager.

"Emison."

Ali looked self-satisfied, preening as she turned back to the TV. Spencer curled her lip in disgust, looking at the tape recorder again and rewinding it.

" _I think there's something more sinister going on,"_ said a different woman. _"Given the news we received earlier today about Nick Maxwell…it's hard to believe that's a coincidence."_

Emily watched as Nick's face flashed on screen. His normally warm brown eyes looked gaunt, his clean shaven jaw dark and stubbly.

Ali turned on Spencer again.

"What happened to Nick?"

"He's dead," Spencer replied. "I heard it on the news this morning."

"What?" Ali replied, her brows furrowing for the first time, a chink in her armor.

There was a long pause before Emily broke the tension.

"I guess that's our bad, bad boy."

 **We're headed to the DiLaurentis property next! Will there be a warm welcome from our favorite copy cat? Will Lassie save Emily when she falls into the well?**


	15. Chapter 15

The room was quiet after Spencer's reveal. Personally, Emily didn't feel anything, sad or happy. Nick had been a thorn in her side for a long time, but she wouldn't have wanted him to die necessarily. Prison had been the best place for him. Though it seemed like someone else thought otherwise.

She glanced at Alison for her reaction, but the blonde looked stony and closed off. Not much different than she had been since Spencer's arrival. She seemed to sense Emily was watching her, though, and turned around, entering the kitchen. Spencer shot Emily a questioning look, but Emily only shrugged.

"So, what's the plan now?" she prompted Emily. "What're we going to do?"

Emily sighed. Spencer always needed a plan.

"I guess we go to the well," she said. "See what they left for us."

Spencer rolled her eyes in resignation.

"I can't believe I'm going through this again."

 _Me neither,_ Emily thought to herself.

"I guess we should get you changed," Spencer suggested, a wayward glance in Ali's direction. Ali was still standing in the kitchen with her back turned, both hands clutching the granite. Emily wished she could see her face, but what would it look like? Was she sad about Nick?

Emily frowned, following Spencer into the spare bedroom. As they entered, Spencer removed her gloves, placing them in her pockets. She made her way to a heavy looking, mahogany dresser. She slid open a few drawers, fingering through shirts and pants. Emily glanced over her shoulder to peer at them. Everything was so incredibly preppy, it made her smile.

Honestly, she'd missed Spencer. It had been so long, more than six months. She'd almost forgotten her patterned sweaters and stiff collars. She'd forgotten the clean, pressed lines of her folded clothing.

Spencer turned to Emily then, her brows still furrowed, and held out a bra.

"I'm not sure if this will fit," she said tentatively, "but it's all I have here."

Emily took it, almost wanting to laugh. Not having a bra had been the least of her problems over the last few weeks. As she smiled, though, Spencer's gazed turned frosty. Ali had appeared in the doorway and, when she caught Emily's eye, she winked. Emily quickly averted her gaze and desperately tried to stifle a blush. Why was her body always betraying her?

"Here's a shirt and some jeans," Spencer said, ignoring Alison with a pinched expression. She laid the clothes out on the bed and then moved to the closet. "You'll need a jacket, too."

Emily changed while Spencer's back was turned, painstakingly avoiding Alison's eye. Otherwise, she was sure to find a flirtatious gaze coupled with that annoying smirk.

"Oh my god, your ribs, Em," Spencer gasped. She'd turned back around, a thick North Face jacket in her hand. "What happened?"

Emily shook her head, pulling the button down shirt quickly over her arms, hiding her back. Spencer had moved closer, like she wanted to touch or inspect it, but Emily didn't want her to see. How would she explain that she could've left their tormenter to die but instead jumped out of a window to save her? Spencer wouldn't understand. Emily barely understood herself.

Spencer frowned when she realized Emily wasn't going to answer, but she didn't press the issue. Instead, she helped button Emily's shirt. It showed she still cared, which was certainly a relief after everything Emily had put her through. And Spencer taking care of her, giving her new, clean clothes, it was nice. She felt human again, back in her element, not like she was some outcast fugitive.

Emily shifted her attention back to Alison as Spencer finished buttoning. Ali no longer looked playful. In fact, she watched the exchange with a touch of irritation, her gaze looking edged and serrated.

"Is it my turn now?" Ali prodded as Emily reached for a sweater.

Spencer regarded her challengingly, her hands dropping to her side. She didn't reach for more clothes. She didn't move at all.

"What's wrong, sis?" Ali said entering the room, her voice honeyed and dangerous. She touched the sleeve of the sweater in Emily's hand. "I think we're about the same size."

"Emily," Spencer said warningly. "Why are we helping her?"

"Uh," Emily said stiffly, pulling the thick maroon sweater out of Ali's hand and over her head, blatantly trying to stall.

"We should just leave her and go straight to the cops," Spencer stated, matter-of-fact.

"Because that's worked out so well for you in the past?" Ali teased.

"Shut up," Spencer snapped, making Emily jump slightly. "The reason it never worked out was because of you."

Spencer took a step closer to Alison. Alison didn't back away, inclining her head slightly. Spencer looked much taller than her, much darker in comparison to Alison's blonde hair and blue eyes. She looked so inflexible, so severe in contrast to Alison's loose indifference.

"But you're right," she continued, her tone hard. "Maybe we shouldn't call the police. Maybe we should just kill you."

Alison's posture didn't change, but her eyes did become hard. Like steel.

"You don't have it in you," she said toying and disdainful.

"Don't I?"

"Stop, Spencer," Emily finally intervened, reaching out and placing a hand on Spencer's shoulder. "It wouldn't help."

"Why?" Spencer asked, turning her furious gaze on Emily.

"The cops know we were together at the club from that stupid sex tape," Emily replied with a measured breath. "And I'm sure we left DNA all over that church."

"It burned," Spencer barked back.

"Not my wig. It was outside when that guy saw me."

Spencer looked displeased, throwing another hateful glance back at Alison.

"So we're accomplices," Emily continued. "If we split, it'll just look like we turned on each other and neither of us will have credibility. If we kill her, we can't use her to testify against the real copycat."

"Why not say the copycat did it?" Spencer asked with a hateful glance at Ali.

"It could be more than just Paige. And that's assuming they both get caught," Emily countered. "They could also disappear. I'm not sure they'd be too pleased if we killed Alison, who they're clearly set on torturing."

"Given this some thought, have you?" Ali asked Emily snarkily.

"Don't pretend like you haven't," Emily replied back in harshly. Ali only lifted an eyebrow in response.

Emily took her hand off Spencer's shoulder, hoping her best friend was feeling a little less murderous.

"Our best bet is to just keep going," Emily reemphasized. "Find this copycat and pin everything on them."

"Everything?" Ali asked.

"Everything," Emily confirmed with a weighted glance.

"And how will we do that?" Spencer asked skeptically.

"We can use the Nick excuse," Emily stated. "They threatened Ali, so I saved her from the hospital. We went off the road, and we sought shelter with CeCe. The copycat killed Cece, for all we know, and we've just been evading them ever since."

"You think the cops will buy that?" Spencer asked with a look of concern.

"Maybe, maybe not," Emily shrugged. "But more than they'll buy you and I showing up without Ali, especially when they know I abducted her. I'm pretty sure they'll be looking for the closest shallow grave."

Emily knew Spencer couldn't argue with that.

Predictably, Spencer clenched her jaw so hard, Emily could see the muscle flex in her cheek. Emily hadn't really thought Spencer wanted to kill Alison, but she certainly looked disappointed that they couldn't. Instead, she turned back to the dresser and grabbed several clothes at random. She threw them on the floor at Alison's feet and stormed out of the room.

* * *

After they were dressed, Spencer loaded Emily and Alison up in her Range Rover. She folded the back seats down so that they could lie flat, hidden from view. It wasn't terribly comfortable, but Emily had dealt with worse lately. She listened to the engine roar to life and music softly switch on in the front. She wasn't sure what station, but it sounded like oldies. Spencer had always liked that kind of thing. Frank Sinatra, Buddy Holly.

"Where am I going, Alison?" Spencer asked with irritation.

"There's a dirt road near the back of the property. Cops rarely patrol it."

A dirt road? She'd never seen that.

Emily sighed, trying to get comfortable while Spencer drove. It was difficult because she didn't want to lie flat on her bruised back. Unfortunately, the only two options involved lying face to face with Alison or faced away from her, not able to see her at all. So, she choose to suffer instead, staring at the velvety ceiling, feeling the dull ache from her ribs.

It felt like a metaphor for their relationship.

Ali made no pretenses, though. She had her arm tucked, her head resting on her elbow. She faced Emily, her hair splayed out around her shoulders. After a few minutes in the car, Emily finally gave in, angling her head to look at her. She glanced at the soft, baby hairs around her forehead and ears. Ali stared back fixedly, her gaze unsure. Emily thought she might even look vulnerable.

It made her wonder how Ali was processing the news of Nick's death. Was she sad? Would she miss him? Emily knew Ali had turned on him in the end, but did she still reserve a special place for him in her heart? Was he her first love?

She felt something twinge uncomfortably at that thought. She didn't want to admit it, but it felt like jealousy. She felt confused, too. If Alison had liked Nick, why did she like Emily? Did she and Nick have something in common?

" _Say you never stopped thinking of me. Say you would have betrayed even your best friends if it meant getting me back."_

She could still remember Ali saying that to her. Is that how Nick had felt about her? Had Nick given up everything for her and paid the ultimate price? Did Ali think she was the same? She felt repulsed at the thought.

She shifted her eyes away, and Alison seemed to sense the change in mood. After a minute, she reached forward, breaching the space between them, and touched Emily's cheek lightly. Her thumb fell soft and feathery to Emily's bottom lip, smoothing over it as if it were fine cloth. Emily didn't look up, but she didn't pull away either.

"Emily," Ali whispered quietly, but Emily ignored the plea, keeping her eyes trained on Ali's coat zipper.

"Look at me," she asked, but Emily still refused. Ali tenderly drew a nail across her jaw, as if she were outlining Emily's face.

 _Did she stroke Nick's face like this?_ Emily thought. _Had she been this soft with him?_

Ali dragged her finger to Emily's chin, pushing her to look up. Emily almost gave in.

"You can sit up now," Spencer interrupted from the front, the gears of the car shifting into parked.

Ali's eyes flashed in annoyance, glancing up. She looked back at Emily, her finger lingering briefly at her lips, before she withdrew her hand and sat up.

Emily sat up, too, but with a wince. She looked around. They were parked on a rough beaten road that Emily hadn't seen before. How did Spencer even find it?

"I don't see any cops," Spencer said tensely. "You two should get out. If I see one coming, I'll stop them. I'll tell them that I saw you two in the square."

Emily nodded. That seemed safe enough.

"Quite the little criminal after all, aren't you?" Ali jabbed, her voice mocking.

"Not like you," Spencer corrected through bared teeth.

"We're not so different," Ali replied casually.

The way she said, it reminded Emily of what Ali had said at the club.

" _You're like me."_

"Hell," Ali continued. "We even have some of the same DNA."

"I wish I'd never met you," Spencer hurled. Emily could see her eyes blazing in the rearview mirror. "I wish you'd ended up at the bottom of that pit. Actually, no, I wish you'd never been born."

"Spencer—" Emily said reprovingly.

"Don't you dare defend her," Spencer snapped, cutting her off. "I've heard enough of that for three life times."

Emily shut her mouth, and Spencer's eyes lashed back to Alison. She took in a long breath. Her head was still faced forward while she spoke to Ali through the mirror.

"You poisoned me. You framed me. You burned down my barn. You pretended to be my dead best friend, who you murdered, and convinced me that you were going to be the sister I never had."

She took another breath. Emily knew wasn't done. Not even close.

"You tried to kill my real sister. You made people believe I was a liar. You got me kicked out of Princeton. You got me back on drugs."

Spencer clutched the steering wheel, Emily could hear the leather creak.

"You ruined my life, Alison," she continued. "You ruined Courtney's. You ruined your parents' and your brother's. You ruined Hanna's and Aria's. And, most of all, you ruined Emily's."

Emily looked down at her hands in her lap. She knew Ali still held Spencer's gaze in the mirror, her face stoic, but her eyes sharp. It felt like an eternity before she responded.

"You all try to blame me for what you did," Ali replied coldly. "But I didn't make you lie. I didn't make you cheat. I didn't make you kiss Ian."

"No, but you murdered him," Spencer snarled.

"According to public record, Nick did that," Ali said with condescension.

"Don't lie to _me_ , Alison. I'm not stupid like everyone else. I know what you are."

"No, you're not stupid Spencer," Ali said dismissively. "But you are bad. It was always inside you. I just teased it out."

"You're wrong," Spencer replied hatefully.

"Whatever," Ali said with a roll of her eyes.

She threw open the back door, a cold blast of air hitting Emily. Before she closed it, though, she leaned in, her face near to Spencer's ear.

"You can't just blame everything on me, you know," she hissed. "You have to take responsibility at some point in your life."

Before Spencer could reply, Ali slammed the door and stalked off into the forest. Emily sat stunned, not sure whether to follow, apologize, or do nothing at all. Spencer turned around in her seat, her hand on the headrest, and looked at Emily earnestly.

"We're not like her," she said softly but with something to prove. "You're not like her, Em. You're not a monster."

"I'm not so sure," Emily replied darkly, thinking about the events that had recently transpired.

"Don't let her convince you."

"Just meet us back here in an hour," Emily said, watching Alison's retreating form. "If it takes longer than that, call the cops."

Emily lurched out of the car after Spencer agreed, following a pissed off Alison into the woods. Ali seemed hell bent on losing her, walking as fast as she could several paces in front of Emily. Emily rolled her eyes, trudging after her through the snow, until finally she couldn't take it any longer.

"You don't even know where you're going," she said pointedly, coming a stop.

Ali relented, pausing. She didn't turn to look at Emily, though, her arms crossed in front of her. Emily could see her steamy breaths rising above her head.

"It's this way."

Emily turned and could only hope Ali would follow. After a few steps, she could hear Ali behind her which inspired both relief and anger. And Ali thought she was the difficult one?

Please.

Emily said nothing, though, too focused on trying to navigate the deep snow. It was almost calf length high, carpeting everything. She'd visited the well on the DiLaurentis property a number of times, but never in winter. It looked different this time of year. Bitter cold, desolate, and white. The trees looked jagged and brittle. Everything was deathly silent. The sun was starting to set, too, which Emily didn't much care for. She didn't exactly want to be out here at night. She trusted herself well enough to get back to the road, but she didn't trust whatever the copy cat had waiting for them.

If it was Paige, like Emily thought, how had she even known about the well? Emily had grown up here, it made sense that she knew. But did Paige know Alison's property, too? Was she from the area?

After another fifteen minutes of the orange pigmented sky getting darker and darker and the air getting colder and colder, Emily saw what she was looking for. A decaying pile of blocky old stones. She could just make it out in the decaying light.

"This is it?" Ali asked through slightly chattering teeth. It was the first thing she'd said since the car.

"Yeah," Emily nodded.

They approached the well together, Alison regarding it as if it were something very unseemly. Like wet and discarded trash.

"Why did you come out here?" she asked with a raised eyebrow.

"I don't know," Emily replied. "I'd never seen anything like this before. I think it was probably an old farm well."

"Why did you think it was the location for the clue?"

"She said 'make a wish,' she said 'dark' and 'dirty,'" Emily explained. "I used to think of this as a wishing well. And it's pretty dark and dirty."

Ali looked up her then, her cheeks and lips red in the cold, her eyes as icy as the snow. She took off a glove, running her hand over the cold stone.

"What did you wish for?"

Emily didn't answer immediately, looking into the well.

"Sometimes I'd wish to pass a test or do well in swimming," she stalled.

"And other times?"

"I wished for you," Emily found herself saying quietly. "I wished for you to notice me, to be my friend, to come back."

She didn't mean to speak quite so honestly, but looking down was distracting, a little mesmerizing. It was black and hollow sounding. Emily wondered how deep it was. She wondered how far you could fall.

"Do you think the next clue is down there?" she asked Alison dazedly.

Alison looked down the well, too.

"I don't like how it smells," she said plainly.

Emily didn't like the way it smelled either. It smelled old and rotted. Wet and mossy. She could smell something else, too, something that seemed like it shouldn't be there.

A snap in the woods made her jump. Alison's eyes snapped up, scanning the perimeter of the clearing. Emily lost the train of her last thought.

"I'm going to look around," she stated.

She took several steps away from the well, out to the edge of the clearing. She strained her eyes into the darkness, but she didn't see anything.

"Emily, what is this—" Alison started, but Emily shushed her.

"There's someone out here," she said taking a few more steps into the forest. "I'm sure of it."

She was so focused on the forest that she didn't see the figure emerge from the well. She didn't see them reach for Alison. She didn't hear them until Alison had muffled a scream. When Emily whipped around, all she saw were two figures, falling down into the dark abyss.

 **Face-off next chapter! Will Emily and Alison survive it? Last guesses on who the copy cat(s) are until the big reveal next chapter!**


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N:** I loved all your guesses. None of you were right, but you tried :). The closest I saw was that it's two people. This is a short chapter, but a big reveal! I'll be updating quick after this one, but I'd love to hear what you think.

* * *

It took Emily a moment too long to process what she'd seen. Someone coming _out of the well_? Surely not. But when she saw Alison disappear down it, her muffled scream reverberating off the rocks, she sprang forward, promptly slipping on a patch of ice and crashing to the ground.

"Fuck," she cursed out loud, scrambling back to her feet, snow and dirt caking her hands. She rushed over to the well, blood pumping fast, her breaths coming short and shallow.

This had to be the copycat. This had to be Paige.

She slammed into the stony side, staring down. She could hear commotion, voices, but it sounded muted, farther away. There was also a faint orange glow at the bottom, like a light had been switched on. That hadn't been there before.

Emily's first instinct was to jump down, to help Alison, but she had an equally strong counter instinct to wait, to figure out her options. Jumping out of a window was one thing, but jumping into a hole, another. She couldn't see what faced her on the other side. She still couldn't really tell how far down it was.

What was down there, anyway? Some sort of tunnel? Where did it lead?

Torn, Emily looked around. Was it too late to alert Spencer? It was dark, the sun had set. It would take at least ten minutes, even running, to get back to her. And that was if she didn't get lost. Paige could get a lot done in that time. She could take Alison anywhere. She could kill her.

Sighing, she looked back down into the well, gripping the stone hard. The orange light was fading. Time was running out.

In an instant, she decided. She was going down.

Emily swung her legs over the edge, her feet touching nothing but air. Her fingers caught the edge of something bristly and wet. She looked down and yanked on it, pulling up a mossy rope ladder. Alison had asked what something was just before she'd been taken. Was it this? Is that how Paige had come up? Is that how she'd gotten down?

Calling upon her bravery, she fitted one shoe into the first rung, and then another. It didn't feel stable and swung too easily while she shifted her weight. She persevered, though, moving down as quickly as she could trust, which was painfully slow. Impatient, Emily tried to increase her pace, but it caused the rope to wobble perilously. She glanced up, her eyes wide. The rope was fixed to the inner wall of the well and loose rock fell in a shower around her hair.

"Shit," she said, moving faster down the rungs.

But before she was even halfway down, the rope snapped, and Emily was in free fall.

She reached out, her hands scraping across the stone, anything to slow her, but it happened too fast. She slammed into the earth below and crumpled hard onto her side. She wasn't sure if it was five feet or fifteen. And even though a check of her body revealed several new bleeding cuts, at least she hadn't fallen on her back again. She wasn't sure she could take the pain.

Pulling herself out of the dirt, snow, moss, and who knew what other filth, she peered down a long tunnel. She looked down by her feet for a weapon, anything. There was a jagged rock that must've pulled loose from the wall, and the rope, frayed in two. She snatched up the rock and held it by her side. She took a breath, trying to control her racing heart, and started down the corridor.

It smelled earthy and wet. It was tomblike and dark, the type of dark that lived in caves deep under the earth. Not the dark of the night sky above, lit by the stars and moon. Like terrifying creatures lived down here, all manner of spiders and bugs. It all looked very handmade, too. Emily wondered how Paige had done this by herself. How long had it taken? It felt incredibly claustrophobic. She tried not to think of the tunnel collapsing in.

She gripped the rock harder, walking towards the orange light at the end of the tunnel. It felt too long and terrifying, Emily could barely breathe. At the end of the passage, she came to a split, one tunnel leading left and the other leading right. She paused. The orange light was coming from the right, but what was to the left? Someone else could be down here, Emily thought. Someone could ambush her.

"Emily," a voice said.

Emily leapt backwards, slamming into the opposite tunnel wall. Her ribs throbbed painfully. She held the rock out in front of her like a dagger, but no one was there. Instead, she could just barely make out matted blonde hair and stark blue eyes staring at her. At first, it looked like the eyes were in the wall itself, but then her vision adjusted. There was a door with a square cut out and bars. She hadn't seen it there, it was so dark. It looked just like everything else.

"She took Alison that way," the voice said in a hiss, a dirty finger pointing right. "Let me out of here, I'll help you."

It took a moment for Emily to recognize the girl, but it was definitely CeCe. She looked haggard and grimy. There was a smell emanating from the cell that Emily didn't want to think about. And her voice, that even sounded different, too.

Emily stepped towards her, catching her breath. She squinted, examining the door in the dark. She found a handle and pulled, trying to be quiet. It didn't budge.

"It's locked," she whispered.

"Give me that," CeCe said, motioning to the rock in Emily's hand. "Maybe I can break the lock with it."

Emily hesitated. What if this was a trick? What if CeCe used it against her? It was a gamble, but she didn't want to leave CeCe here alone, unarmed. If something happened to her, CeCe would be helpless. So, she dropped the rock inside.

CeCe picked it up, vanishing from view. Emily turned back to the passage way and went right. She could see an entry to a room at the end. She shuffled towards it and, once inside, she saw a gas lantern sitting on a rickety table. The table was slanted, imbalanced on the uneven earthy floor. Beyond it, a figure dressed in black stood over a hole, staring down.

"Back in your place," it said, to who Emily couldn't see.

"Paige," Emily announced herself, hearing the fear in her voice, the pain. There was something else, too, that she was pretty sure was anger.

Paige turned, her brown eyes looking black. Emily could tell her hair had once been up in a neat, straight pony tail, but not now. Hairs were pulled loose and errant around her face. There were angry red marks around her cheeks and neck. Her hands were still gloved, her black turtleneck pulled slightly askew.

"Oh honey," Paige said in a singsong voice that made Emily wish she'd never uttered that word. "You're home."

"What the hell is this?" Emily growled.

"This," Paige replied with a sweep of her hands around the earthy room. The gas flamelight licked at the walls, the shadows under her eyes danced. "Was truly a labor of love."

"Where's Alison?"

"Right here," Paige said, indicating the hole in the floor. "I laid it all out perfectly. We were just waiting for you."

"Waiting for me?" Emily asked.

Paige nodded, picking up a shovel that had been lying against the wall. She threw it from hand to hand. Watching the motion, Emily saw a large pile of clumped dirt and rock behind her, as if the hole had just been dug.

"You said she ruined your life," Paige explained. "You said you wished she were dead."

Emily regarded her warily.

"This is all for you, Emily," Paige said airily, sounding strangely relieved. Like she'd just won a long race and she was happy it was finally over. "I'm just doing what we wanted. I'm just following the plan."

Emily carefully stepped towards her, orienting herself towards the hole. When she looked down, though, she realized it was actually a grave. Alison lay at the bottom, bound and gagged. Her crystal blue eyes, so similar to the pair she had just seen in the passageway, stared back at Emily. She looked scared, furious, wrestling with her restraints, but the grave was deep and small. It was a tight fit, like it was made just for her. Emily guessed it was.

Behind her, Paige heaved a pile onto Ali with the shovel. Ali flinched, causing Emily to look back up.

"This wasn't part of the plan, Paige," Emily said firmly.

"You're right," Paige replied wistfully, leaning on the shovel. "It's so much more."

"And what about CeCe? Just planning to keep her locked in there forever?"

"I've worked that out," Paige said happily. She moved closer, and Emily forced herself not to recoil. Paige reached out, removing a bit of dirt from around Emily's collar.

"CeCe murdered Ali. She was killing all those girls, not you," Paige explained. "She was always jealous of her cousin, she'd wanted to be her. I have the suicide letter all pinned out in CeCe's own handwriting."

"Suicide?" Emily asked.

"Well, murder-suicide if we're getting specific," Paige said with a smile.

Her cheeriness was becoming obnoxious to Emily.

"Everyone in the country has seen that sex tape," Emily countered in a growl. "Thanks to you. They know I've been with Alison."

"Yes, and CeCe took you both that night. She was hiding you in the top of that church until you started a fire and escaped. Then, you found her here, but sadly, it was too late…" she said in a tone of mock sadness.

"Not that you really need an alibi. Maybe you died down here, too?" Paige implied, her voice higher. She was still standing too close for Emily's comfort. "Maybe the cops never find your body."

Emily considered Paige's words. She wasn't sure if that was a threat or an offer. The answer was confirmed shortly though.

"We can run away together," Paige said. "You can finally close this chapter in your life. We can start something new."

Emily breathed steadily through her nose, not moving. Paige watched her closely, too close, and sensing her hesitance, she held out the shovel. She looked down into the grave where Ali met her eye with a hateful glare.

"Is it because of her?" Paige asked.

Emily didn't answer, not taking the shovel.

"Does she even know what you really are, Emily?" she said with a hint of smugness. "Does she know you killed her followers? That it was you who sent her threats?"

Ali's eyes glanced to Emily, and they held each other's gaze.

"Tell her," Paige prompted, her cheeriness fading, an authoritative tone taking its place. "Tell her you're staying true to your word. Tell her you're going to kill her."

 **Answer: Emily was the copycat! Now Paige. An interlude chapter is next from Paige's POV. It will answer some questions I'm sure you all have. And don't worry, there's no Paily in this story.  
**


	17. Paige's Interlude

**A/N:** Hi everyone! Watching your reactions to the last chapter has been something else. A roller coaster! I know the plot twist is confusing, but trust me, the longer I talk, the more rational it's going to sound. Beginning with this chapter, which should shed some light on some of those questions. Not all, but some. We'll get there in the end. And for those who still don't buy it/don't think it makes sense after the story is completed, I'll be happy to field your questions.

That said, I know some of us hate Paige to the point that they're triggered by even seeing her name, but I feel like her character had villain vibe potential that was never actualized on the show. So, here's what I felt like Paige could've been and how she fits into this story.

* * *

 ** _Paige._**

I used to hide in my closet when I could hear my dad screaming at my mother. Sometimes, I would sneak outside and sit on the roof of our detached garage. We lived in front of a forest, a property that was going to be converted into a cemetery one day, and I would look out over the trees. I could still hear him, but I would try to listen to the birds, the squirrels, or the wind blowing through the leaves. Sometimes, he'd be yelling for so loud and so long, the moon would be out, and I'd have a dozen mosquito bites. I'd be too afraid to go back inside, so I'd stay there until it was quiet.

I still don't know what he was so angry about. Where it all came from. Was it some sort of poison he needed to exorcise weekly in order to live? Maybe that's why he'd become a pastor. Maybe he was looking for peace, but I don't think he ever found it. He just found more power to wield over others.

I can still remember watching him in church, the way he stood at the front, higher than the others, his arms wide open as if he were trying to hug us all at once. Strain us. Purify. He wanted us to be good. He wanted us to be obedient. He wanted us to _listen_. He loved the way the congregation hung on every word. He loved that they thought he held the key to their salvation.

My hands would be clasped tight, my jaw set hard, my eyes trained straight. I would think, hypocrite. Liar. Charlatan. He wasn't a man of God. And, if he was, it was a God I never wanted to meet.

When I would get B's in elementary school, he'd take me to government housing. He'd tell me I would end up there. When I would forget to lock the door to the house, he'd take me to the pawn shop. He'd sell a prized possession for a quarter of its worth. When he'd asked to borrow something of mine, if I hesitated or flinched, he'd break it. When I'd gain weight, he wouldn't let me eat.

Sloth was a sin.

Greed was a sin.

Gluttony was a sin.

But all I could feel growing was hate. Hate took its hold in me.

You probably know this, Emily, but when you feel so small, all you want to feel is big again. I'd kick boys in the shin that tried to push me on the playground. It felt good. I remember holding one down, my fingers around his neck. His eyes bulged, he was scared. He thought I was going to kill him, I think. Maybe I was. But being pastor's daughter in a small town, it gives you a certain latitude. They forgive you easily. But when they don't… I remember crying, begging my middle school teacher not to tell my father what I'd done. She did. He made me sleep in the shed for a week.

Wrath was a sin.

He taught me a valuable lesson, though. You need to know your victim to really bully them. You need to know what they love, and then you take it away. And not quickly. Slowly. And don't get caught.

There were certain people I liked to bully better than others. I had a type, I guess. There was a girl in high school. She was like your Ali, Emily. Beautiful. Mean. Untamed. Brilliant. I heard her father was an alcoholic. She was blonde. I thought maybe we were alike.

It's weird when you discover someone like yourself. Especially when you hate yourself so much. You're torn between a kind of fascination, the way you stare into a mirror, touching the glass, entranced by your own reflection. Do you really look like that? Does your smile look like a sneer? You see things you like. You see things don't like. And the things you don't like make you want to smash that mirror.

I decided then, there's only two things you can do with people like you. Follow them or destroy them. For her, I chose destroy. We'd kick each other in soccer, body slam one another in field hockey. We left bruises, large and small. They were purple and green and yellow. Love marks. She was beautiful, and she spread rumors about me. People liked her. But I found my own power to wield in computers. I found things about her she didn't want shared, and I shared them. She hated me, and I wore that hatred like a badge of honor. Hurting each other felt almost as good as kissing each other.

Lust is a sin.

I thought of her when I saw Alison DiLaurentis for the first time. That face. That look. She didn't really get my attention, though, not until "Burn It Down." A girl that killed her own twin sister? She destroyed people like her, too, I thought. A girl after my own heart. My interest was piqued.

I became a hardcore fan. But I was a voice in hundreds. She had so many fans, so many willing followers. Zealots. People even said Alison herself was sometimes on the message boards. They bragged about doing her bidding. I was skeptical but still jealous. I wanted to stand out. I wanted to be different.

So, I found Charlotte. CeCe. Whatever. Her parents had disowned her, but there she was owning a bar in Philly, and what a sight she was. I wormed my way into working there. I told her about being an Ali cat, my devotion. She seemed charmed but ultimately uncaring.

 _Just pour stiff drinks_ , she said.

While I was pouring stiff drinks, I wondered if I'd ever get to meet the real Alison. I saw that you'd helped arrest her. I wondered about writing her letters in jail. But then I heard something new on the forums. A softer voice. A darker voice. Sinister and sweet. The best of both worlds.

You spoke to me.

We talked into the night. We talked for weeks. Your voice was pained. Your voice was hurt. Your voice was tenuous and breaking. Your vulnerability, it was beautiful. You reminded me of the girl on the roof, of the girl in the closet. Emily, you were like me, but in a way I didn't want to destroy. Alison had tortured you, hurt you, beaten you, bruised you. You'd loved her, and she'd spurned you. I knew what that felt like. I wanted to protect you.

I was in love.

Figuring out who you were, that was tough, Emily. It was hard. I thought I could find anyone, learn anything, but you were meticulous. You were smart. I loved you even more. But you made mistakes. You knew things about the case, about Alison DiLaurentis herself. You spoke personally, with an intimacy forged by fire. You said things I couldn't find in newspapers, in interviews, in written accounts. You said things only you could know.

" _Alison doesn't love anyone,"_ you'd told me, your font so black, so tiny. _"She'd laugh in your face."_

The way you said it, Emily… you didn't just know Alison. You _knew_ Alison.

A few weeks after we met, I opened a picture of the girls she'd tried to kill on my computer, the screen blue and too bright in the blackness of my room. That's when I looked at The Liars. That's when I looked at you.

Black shield of hair. Dark, shifting eyes. Slumped shoulders, a frown.

Dark.

Soft.

Vulnerable.

I knew with a stalwart conviction that it was you, that you were Emily Fields. I hacked the Rosewood police department. I combed through your victim statements.

" _And what happened next? After she let out the poisonous gas?"_ the cop had asked.

" _She laughed,"_ you'd said.

I stared at your inky, smudged fingerprint. I put my thumb to it, touching the screen. We were touching. You didn't know who I was, you didn't know I knew who _you_ were, but we were as close as we had ever been. Finally. We were getting somewhere.

And weren't you going places, Emily? You started killing. You wanted me to give pictures to Alison, pretend to be part of her legal staff.

Anything for you.

Emily.

What a beautiful name.

There was a problem, though. I could do anything with tech, but there was a reason why. I wasn't great in person. A lifetime of experience had proven that. I was too sharp, too intense. People sensed it in me before I even spoke. They gave me a wide berth, like a disgusting smell or a rabid dog. But I wanted to help you so badly, I was willing to try again. I thought, I'll have to adopt a different persona. But who could I play? I obviously wasn't good at acting.

It would have to be the only other thing I knew. The girl my dad thought I was. A girl I didn't want _anyone_ to see.

But anything for you, Emily.

So, I donned my costume. I played my part. Squirmy. Stupid. Dull. Weak.

And Alison believed it. I tricked _Alison DiLaurentis_ , and it was thrilling. A world class psychopath fell for my third rate acting. With an ego like that, why not? She doesn't look under the hood any more. She'd gotten away with so much, she was arrogant. She thought she was fucking God.

You should've seen her sitting there, Emily. America's sweetheart. You should've seen the fucking smirk on her face. And her eyes, I'd never seen eyes like that. It was like a sunset or the mountains. Photos didn't do her justice. It wasn't even just the color, it was the intelligence behind them. The derision. It was like swimming with sharks without a cage. It was like stepping on a high voltage wire. I felt so alive sitting across from death itself.

I could see why you'd loved her.

She knew I wasn't in her staff, but she wasn't scared. She barely spoke. She didn't need to. She just waited like she knew I had something for her. Like she knew everything. I slid the envelope across the table, and she took it. No questions asked.

We did this a few more times, just like you said. I looked inside the envelopes, though. I'm sorry, Emily, I know you told me not to, but I did. I saw what you'd done. I knew who you'd killed, and I knew how you were finding them. I just wanted to be close to you.

I didn't judge you. I was even a little proud. I didn't think you had it in you, but then again, of course you killed those bitches. They were pretenders. Soliders. Small. They claimed loyalty to Alison, and they died, casualties to our war. They deserved it. No one knew what Alison had put you through other than me. No one understood.

It was just me and you. You and me. Your faithful servant. Your confidant. Your unconditional love.

But then… I hate to even remember it.

You went off script. You saw Alison in court and, Emily, I think you snapped.

What did she do? How did she make you act so impulsively? You abducted her from her hospital. You'd threatened to kill her, but you weren't done. _We_ weren't done. I know you said she was next, but I thought we had more time. You didn't even tell me. Why didn't you include me? What did I do? I was perfect. I followed your instructions to the letter. Were you punishing me?

For a few days, I thought you were just waiting to contact me. I saw you crashed that car. I couldn't sleep. I couldn't eat. I waited. They said you were dead, but I knew you were stronger than that. I kept waiting.

Then, imagine my surprise when I'm bartending to the nobodies, pouring stiff drinks, when

There.

You.

Are.

Your back was turned, but even then I knew. You had a blonde wig on, I wanted to gag, but I knew.

You weren't looking at me. You were looking at something, someone else. I couldn't see your eyes. I wanted you to turn. I willed you to turn. But you didn't.

 _"Hi, what can I get you?"_ I interrupted.

Did you get the same tingle when we held gazes for the first time? Did you know it was me? I don't think you did, but you smiled anyway.

You were exquisite. You were coy. You told me to surprise you. You even said your name was Emma. It made me chuckle. You're funny. But as we talked, I was getting worried that you couldn't feel _it_ , the energy between us. I prompted you, but you weren't focused. You weren't paying attention. I wanted to tell you everything. Six months we'd been talking, and I'd missed you. I wanted to spill my relief that you were alive. I wanted to tell you about how our fates were entwined, about how of all the bars in the world, you were standing in mine. That's how meant to be we were. I touched you. I wanted to take you. Could you feel it?

I don't think you did. I don't think you recognized me. I don't think you knew I recognized _you_. Because you weren't listening. You were distracted.

I should've known why. I was so happy to see you, so intoxicated by you, I'd forgotten about _her_. I saw the shark fin before you did. I saw the eyes.

I tried to warn you, but you didn't listen. You just stood there. You let her call you "babe." You didn't defend me when she told me to get lost. That hurt. She looked at me, too, and I knew. Clear as day. Written on the wall. She was done playing with me.

She was going to kill me.

Were you going to let her? I hated to think you were a part of it. So, I followed you after you stormed away. Something wasn't right. Why was she with you? Why hadn't you killed her yet? Did she dress you? I didn't feel like you'd wear something so revealing. Was everything I'd thought about you wrong? Were you not the Emily I loved?

I gripped the metal railing. I could feel my heart rate rise the longer I watched. I couldn't stop sweating. I saw you two on the dance floor. I saw her touch you. When you went outside, I saw you kiss her.

It was honestly worse than when I thought you'd died. We had something, and you were blowing it, Emily. You'd been compromised. She'd clouded your judgment. But I wasn't about to let you ruin _everything_.

So, I waited for CeCe. Charlotte. Whatever. When she came to kill me, ever the loyal follower, I was ready. I spilled her blood all over that apartment. A show for you. And then I took her for good measure. Bait. If you liked Alison, you liked games, right? Time to give her a taste of her own medicine. And you? You'd be along for the ride. I wanted you to watch how beautifully I could work. I wanted you to see how much I loved you and how well.

Remember how Alison outed you? I outed her.

Remember when Alison set fire to a house while you were still inside? I set fire to a church while she was still inside.

Remember Jordan, Emily? Alison killed her in prison, so I killed Nick in prison.

And, finally, do you remember Courtney? She buried her alive. You loved her, and she killed her. You'd wanted Alison to suffer the way you had, but there you were fucking her. So, I reminded you. I put her in an Alison-sized hole, and she'll suffocate just like Courtney. Just like you wanted.

You may have dropped the mantle of our work, but I picked it up for you. You tried to abandon the cause, but this is war, Emily. I'll carry on, and you'll come back. You'll come back or you'll die.


	18. Chapter 18

_Emily listened to the pounding of her own steps on the sand. She was sure she'd never grow tired of the heavy foot falls, as sure and steady as her heart beat, while the waves rolled in and out, in and out, harmonizing lazily beside her. She cast her head to the side, a touch of wind picking up a loose strand of black hair, shrouding her eyes. She pushed it away impatiently, she wanted to see the sun setting over the water, sharp hues of orange and pink stabbing downwards, dying on the horizon._

 _It was beautiful. It was peaceful. It was a perfect moment._

 _Even despite her calves, which were starting to burn hot, screaming for more oxygen, begging for rest. Her breaths were coming ragged, too, but she persisted. There weren't many people left on the beach, it wasn't a popular spot to begin with, but regardless, she wanted to be far, far away from them. She wanted to be alone with her thoughts, the sky, the rocky cliff face, and the ocean._

 _Nothing else existed out here._

 _Not the newspapers, not the radio quips._

 _Not_ her _._

 _Emily wished she could run on the beach forever. Even if it meant her legs giving out, the tide rushing in to claim her. She'd felt that once when she'd been swimming in a storm, when she'd faked her death. She'd felt the pull of the ocean, the harsh breaks roiling, billowing her body in the water like it was paper thin. She'd felt so small, so powerless. With the salt burning her eyes, the water choking down her throat, it was all too much. She'd thought, what if I just give in? What if I just let go?_

 _Sometimes, she still felt like that. Even now, there wasn't a cloud in the sky and the sand underfoot assured her that she was safe on dry land. But that didn't matter. In her mind, the ocean still rolled, still slammed, threatening to drown her._

 _California was supposed to be her big escape, her "next step." But Emily was still stuck, a paper boat lost in a wild sea, no safe harbor in sight. The press had found her again. Alison had found her again, those blue eyes tracking her like the Mona Lisa in every newsstand she passed._

 _No matter how far she ran, she couldn't get far enough away. She'd never get far enough away._

 _Emily sucked in heaving breaths, hands on her knees as she buckled over, unable to take one more step. She'd pushed herself a little too hard, she realized, the pain in her calves blazing up her hamstrings and into her back. Everything felt locked, seized up tight. She placed a hand out to steady herself on a nearby rock. It felt mossy and sharp. Wincing through the pain, her eyes glazed upward, following the serrated, rocky spine until stone met sky._

Shit _, she thought._

 _It was dark. The sun had set. She looked around, hands on her hips, still breathing hard. How long had she been out here? How far had she run?_

 _She gazed in the direction of her car, but there was only an ominously black sky to greet her. She couldn't see the parking lot. Getting access to this beach meant climbing down a steep rock face, navigating hard steps cut into the sea wall. Maybe she was at the wrong angle, too far below the cliff to see above._

 _Distractedly, she looked down, her feet feeling damp, damper than they should be. The edge of the surf kissed her shoe, playing with a loose lace. Her eyes wandered further, and she realized that the tide was coming in. She needed to get back. Now._

 _Emily sprang into action, her mind buzzing white. She encouraged her aching muscles to move, slowly making her way back towards the beach entrance. The waves lapped at her sneakers when she tiredly zagged too far from the sea wall, the dry margin of sand getting thinner and thinner, a tight rope._

 _She pushed herself to make it. She had to make it._

 _When she finally reached the stairs, Emily wasn't sure if she was seeing real stars in the sky or if it was just light bursting bright from behind her eyelids. Blinking through it, she plucked herself out of the waves that now overtook her ankles and collapsed painfully on the first few steps. She closed her eyes, exhausted, drained, defeated, and listened to the surf beat and crash below her. When she opened them again, the water looked black and violent. It no longer looked lazy. It seemed hungry, a gaping maw, ever ready to swallow._

 _She breathed shallowly, nervously collecting herself. It was a monumental effort just to stand. She leaned heavily on the rail, it was hard to make out in the dark. Why weren't the lights on? She'd been here dozens of times, and there were always lights, both in the parking lot and lining the stairs. It felt suffocating without them. Smothering and cold._

 _It was weird._

 _Maybe the power was out, she guessed. But, even with that rationale, it still put her ill at ease._

 _She struggled upwards, eager to make it back to her car, carefully placing shoe after squelching shoe on the edge of each step. She was immersed in the task, her senses numbed, so much that she didn't realize she wasn't alone. She didn't see the shape standing in front of her, a shadow in the night, until she felt rough hands clutch both shoulders._

 _Emily jerked at the touch, swimming in momentary vertigo, her heel slipping treacherously beneath her. All the air left her lungs in one huge gasp. When she felt herself tip backwards, every muscle in her body tensed. She looked into the black veil of a hoodie, all of her instincts shrieking._

 _It was Alison. It was A._

 _She felt the lack of footing beneath her, a deep animal fear slam against her rib cage. She snatched at the girl's elbows, but the girl held her fast. She didn't let her fall. She also didn't let her regain her stability, either, perilously angling Emily back towards the churning ocean._

 _All Emily could do was stare, eyes wide in terror, mouth open and wordless. As a few tense beats passed, Emily was able to pick out details of the stranger's face._

 _It_ wasn't _Alison. But it_ was _a girl._

 _She looked younger than Emily. She was close, her pointed noise almost touching Emily's, her dark hair whipping under the hoodie. Emily could smell a sickly flowery fragrance._

" _Should I let you go, Emily?" the girl growled, the wet soles of Emily's sneakers squeaking, still scrambling to find purchase. "Give you a good push?"_

 _Even in her fear, Emily's mind reeled. How did this girl know her name? Who was she?_

" _Wh—Why?" Emily sputtered, her breaths still coming too fast, too short. "Who are you?"_

 _The girl's mouth went rigid, the blacks of her eyes small and angry._

" _You hurt Alison. You're a criminal."_

 _The girl stepped forward, and Emily knew this was it. If she pushed Emily, the fall alone might kill her. If it didn't, the crashing waves certainly would. And no one was out here. No one would hear her scream._

 _By some of twist of fate, however, the girl's shoe skidded, slipping in the water puddled at Emily's feet. They both wavered as she attempted to regain balance, and Emily pivoted. She used the girl's uncertain momentum to throw herself left, banging her back against the rail, away from the dangerous pitch of the stairs. She threw an arm out against the metal, trying to shake the girl off with the other hand, but she clutched Emily's shirt firmly. So firm that her nails bit into the skin at Emily's collar, cutting deep._

 _Emily cried out in pain and instinctively lifted a leg up. She wanted her off. She wanted her away. She grabbed the girl's wrists, wrenching them free from her collar and kicked. The anger in the girl's eyes transformed into horror as Emily transferred all her remaining strength downward._

 _Then, she let go._

 _The girl screamed, but it was cut short, interrupted by loud thumps and sickly crunches. Emily squeezed her eyes shut, crouching low._

This isn't happening _, she kept thinking, her hands sliding over her ears._

This isn't happening.

This isn't happening.

 _She wasn't sure how long she stayed there, eyes screwed tight. She could see Alison looming above her. She could see her wavy blonde hair, soft as silk. She could hear the heartless laugh, the mocking snicker._

"God, Emily, you're such a loser."

" _Shut up," she mumbled._

 _Alison's expression shifted. Her eyes shined blue as she reached for Emily's shirt, her white fingers hovering over the blood red nail marks._

"You're my favorite."

 _Emily trembled, the cold press of the metal painful on her fingers._

"Tell me you'd do anything for me."

 _She tried to shut the voice out. She tried to focus on the waves. The cool breeze caressing her face._

 _Alison wasn't here._

 _Alison was in jail._

 _Emily was alive. She wasn't going to die._

 _Emily forced her eyes open. She didn't know how much time had passed. She saw a girl lying motionless at the bottom of the stairs, half submerged in water, bathed in moonlight._

 _It all rushed back. The girl's frightened eyes, the way she breathed hot on Emily's face. She'd called her a criminal, and Emily had killed her. She'd murdered someone._

 _She stood shakily, turning to run. She had to call for help. But something stopped her: her own hand gripping the railing as if shackled there, an unwelcome restraint. Why was she hesitating?_

 _One word blared through her mind, a siren in a quiet night._

 _Liar._

 _Who would she tell? Who would believe her? No one ever did. The police had never been on her side. And now a girl was dead, a girl Emily had pushed._

 _She could leave._

 _No one had to know._

 _But Emily didn't move. She spared another glance downward at the motionless body. The water had moved higher, grazing the girl's blowing hair. Emily couldn't tell from this distance, but was that the rise and fall of her chest? Was she still breathing?_

 _Emily touched the throbbing nail marks at her clavicle. She looked at her hand prints, still hot on the railing. Suddenly, it didn't seem like enough to simply leave her there. The girl could say Emily attacked her. Emily's skin under her nails could prove it._

 _She took a step towards her._

 _This stranger wasn't Alison, but she was an extension of her, wasn't she? She'd stalked Emily. She'd cut the power. She'd threatened to kill her. What if she wasn't dead? What if she did it again? If she didn't snuff out the fire, it would only spread. Alison had taught her that._

 _Emily took descended the stairs. She plunged towards the raging sea, and she didn't look back._

* * *

" _Now we meet, as we truly are."_

Paige's words rang in Emily's ears as she regarded Alison, ignoring the shovel in Paige's hands. Instead, she stooped low over the hole, a hand playing just inside the earthy grave. Ali watched her, chewing on her gag slightly, her eyes placid and unwavering. She didn't seem surprised to meet Emily as she truly was. She didn't seem surprised to find herself another link in a string of girls, hand-picked and awaiting a deserved execution.

Looking at her, though, Emily thought she was more than just a link. She was a rare gem, the centerpiece, the crown jewel.

Emily had never thought she'd be making a metaphorical necklace of would be murderers, of Ali cats. Emily hadn't thought there'd be more girls at the bottom of dark holes and beach stairwells. But as time passed, she'd been consumed with the desire to know who that first girl was, the girl she'd buried at sea.

Where had she come from? Why had she threatened Emily? Did she know Alison?

It took some time, but Emily eventually found her photo in an online newspaper while she'd been scouring the internet for missing girls. She learned her name: Natalie Billings. She saw that Natalie wasn't even from California, but Missouri. She'd traveled all the way to Los Angeles to intimidate Emily.

Why?

With her name, answering that question was easier. Natalie was all over social media. She was in the Ali cat forums, her posts filled to the brim with threats against Emily and her friends. She said she was planning something big. No one cared. No one took it seriously.

And she wasn't the only one. Emily had found Greg's old posts. Greg, who had ingratiated himself with Spencer, pretended to be her friend, and then passed information to Ali. Ali had rewarded him by killing him when he'd outlived his use. Despite that, the Ali cats still thought she was misunderstood. They still thought she was innocent. Greg had been instrumental in setting up Emily and her friends for Alison's murder and, somehow, Ali was the victim.

Ali was always the victim.

Reading all of their posts, it was a foregone conclusion for Emily. The Ali cats were dangerous. They needed to be stopped. She wasn't going to wait until one of them finally cornered her with no means escape. She was going to get ahead of the problem. Meet it head on. Silence those voices before they spoke.

It wasn't easy though. The police, the FBI, they caught onto the fact that it she was killing Ali cats. They recognized the –A texts. The media called her a copycat, but that wasn't at all what she was doing. Or was it? She'd been sleeping less. The hallucinations had gotten worse.

It got bad enough, she'd begun to worry she was going to make a serious mistake. A real class A fuck up. The type that brought a battering ram to her door. And Emily would be god damned if they got to her before she got to Alison. That's when she went to Rosewood, when she saw Alison in court. But Ali's attorney had pointed her out in front of everyone, and she'd panicked. She became all impulse. Alison was going to walk, and Emily was going to jail.

 _No,_ she'd thought. _Not today._

"You know, at first, I wanted to save you," Emily said after a long moment, dragging her index finger through the dirt. "I believed you were good, somewhere deep down."

She lifted her hand to look, rubbing mud between her thumb and forefinger.

"I thought I gave up," she stated simply, dropping her hand to her side. "I killed your followers. I sent you anonymous threats. I spoke to you through Courtney, the girl you wronged the most. I wanted you to suffer like we had, to get a taste of what you put us through," she paused, "before I killed you."

At that, Alison's eyes flickered like the flame in the lantern behind them. Emily wasn't sure why she was telling Ali any of this. Maybe there was a part of her that needed to see the look on Ali's face when she admitted what she'd done, what Alison had already known all along.

"But now that I think about it, maybe I was trying to teach you," Emily said softly.

Ali held her gaze.

"Did you learn anything?"

Ali didn't make a move to reply, her eyes deep blue and inscrutable. Emily glanced at Paige, putting her hands on her still bent thighs.

"Take her gag off."

Paige had been standing there unmoving, silently observing the exchange, but she smiled at Emily's address and obediently crossed behind the hole. Emily's eyes darkened, noting that Paige kept her front facing Emily. She didn't turn her back, still gripping the shovel. Emily discreetly checked the room for another weapon while Paige leaned down, slipping the gag off.

Alison face instantly shifted, teeth bared towards Paige, who retracted her hand quickly lest she lose it.

"Touch me again, and I'll bite your fucking fingers off, Pigskin."

"Oh," Paige smiled, clutching the shovel. "Spicy."

Paige glanced at Emily and dropped the metal edge of the shovel down, tracing a line in the dirt by Alison's head.

"Were you sad to see that Nick was dead?" Paige smirked, returning her gaze to Alison.

The blonde's jaw clenched, her pink lips slipping over those bright white teeth in an irritated frown.

"You can't ignore the poetry," Paige continued, sounding smug. "He died the same way Jordan did, and you'll die in the same way you killed your sister."

Ali clenched her fists, the ropes around her wrists pulling taut, leaving abrasive, red marks on her skin.

"And Nick was there, too, wasn't he?" Paige added with faux thoughtfulness. "When he was 'forcing' you? Kind of like Emily and me."

Paige shot Emily an eerie, chilling look of devotion. Emily did not return it, only watching with guarded eyes, and Ali snickered loudly.

"What was that crazy shit you were saying a second ago?" she said, her voice musical in the dark lit room. "About you and Emily running away together?"

Paige's satisfied expression faltered.

"Is that what you think you're going to do?" Ali continued with a scoff. "Run away and live happily ever after? You don't even know her."

"I know her better than you."

Alison laughed in earnest now, the sound ringing out against the earthen walls. It was beautiful and terrible. It made Emily shiver.

"No one knows her better than me, sweetie," she said chillingly, a smile poised on those bow-shaped lips. "You wrote her a few messages, and you think that's love? She didn't even recognize you at the bar, did she?"

Paige glanced up at Emily, her eyes shadowed.

"Hate to break it to you, Pigskin, but you were a pawn," Ali continued confidently. She couldn't use her hands, but Emily had a distinct feeling that she'd be looking at a nail, picking at a cuticle, if she could. "A nobody. She used you—"

"Shut up," Paige barked, interrupting her, driving the shovel deeper into the ground by her ear. "I tricked you—"

"You didn't trick me," Alison cut in, her voice losing its elated edge, turning dangerous. "You think I didn't know my girl? _My_ Emily," she emphasized. "I knew the second I saw the first crime scene. How long did it take _you_ to figure out who she was?"

Paige simmered at the challenge, buzzing like a light bulb burning too bright, about to pop.

"You think you can make her happy?" Ali continued, poking and prodding.

"Happier than you."

"I don't make her happy," Alison condescended. "She doesn't want to be happy. You don't know a damn thing."

Emily watched Alison, considering her words. Was that true?

"I think it's safe to say, Emily," Paige said, interrupting her thought, interrupting Alison. She roughly fixed the gag back over Ali's mouth. "That she didn't learn anything."

When she was finished, Paige thumbed over Ali's cheek and Ali jerked away, her eyes furious. She wasn't the only one. Emily bristled at Paige's comment, rising to stand.

 _This fucking bitch_ , she thought.

Ali was right. She didn't know the first thing about either of them. Emily had been _livid_ when she'd discovered that letter in CeCe's apartment.

 _You,_ it had read.

She knew what it meant. _You_ meant Emily. And it meant someone had stolen her revenge. All her work commandeered by a fucking pretender. When Alison had told her Paige had passed information in jail, she knew exactly who it was. The stupid Ali cat from that forums that she had manipulated into giving Alison photos of the crime scene.

Emily clenched her teeth, her jaw stinging in the effort to control her reaction. Paige stood, crossing back over to her.

"I have to know," Paige smiled, too coy, too cloying. "Did you recognize me at the bar? When did you know it was me?"

Emily tasted bile in the back of her throat.

It was awfully bitter, all the more so because of _how badly_ she'd underestimated the dark haired girl. It was true, Paige had been a pawn. A pawn she didn't think would ever figure out who she was. A pawn she didn't think would have the fucking balls to do what she did.

Her. Plan.

Her. Vision.

Spoiled. Sullied. Shit on.

"I didn't recognize you at first," Emily admitted, her voice low in an attempt to conceal her anger.

"Were you proud?" Paige fished, still smiling too wide, too white. "Did you know everything I'd done? Let me tell you—"

"No," Emily stopped her, holding up a hand. "Let me."

She took a breath.

"You figured out who I was. You saw me with Alison. You realized CeCe and Alison were going to kill you, and you took CeCe," she paused, her nostrils flaring. "You copied my letters. You outed Ali. You set fire to the church. You killed Nick. You did everything I wanted to do."

"I did," Paige replied, triumphant.

"You're not listening," Emily snapped more harshly. "Everything _I_ wanted to do."

Paige's expression shifted, confused.

"You weren't part of this," Emily elaborated, barbing her words. "You were supposed to hand off the envelopes. That was it."

Paige's face contorted under Emily's admonishment, ready to strike.

"How could you say that?" she accused, her voice rising. "You weren't supposed to go to her hearing. You weren't supposed to fuck her!"

"Paige—"

"We both deviated from the plan," Paige hissed. "You improvised, I improvised."

Emily's eyes narrowed. She felt her rage turn cold, her mind run rampant with ways to murder Paige.

"You're mad, I get it," Paige acquiesced with a cavalier shrug, tapping her fingers on the wood. "But we've come to the same destination. Does it really matter how we got here? We're in this together."

She was trying to appeal to Emily, pacify her, but Emily's eyes stayed narrowed.

"Let's end it together," she said, extending the shovel again, a peace offering.

Emily carefully placed a hand on it, the wood felt smooth and worn. Solid and unyielding like the situation she was in.

She glanced at Alison's form, tied, gagged, and exactly how she'd always planned for her to be. It would be easier if she just killed her. The odds weren't great for fighting Paige. She had broken ribs, a sore ankle, bleeding palms, and they were basically in a fucking basement. Plus, Emily had imagined Alison dead for months and months. What was stopping her?

Her mind reflexively replayed what Spencer had said back at the car.

" _You're not like her, Em. You're not a monster."_

Emily was a monster though. She _was_ just like Alison. Everything bad Ali had done had been motivated by revenge, just like Emily. She hurt people she hardly knew, just like Emily. She'd been an animal cornered and she bit, just like Emily.

Emily should kill her, like she'd killed the other girls. She should take the offering from Paige. She could turn on Paige later, when she was prepared and ready, string up that obnoxiously loose end. But she stalled. Something stopped her. Like that night on the ocean stairs, her body betrayed her. It wouldn't take the shovel, it wouldn't go along. Instead, Emily remembered the steamy footprint on the kitchen floor, Alison reaching a small, delicate hand inside a dark cabinet. She remembered Alison's lips, red and wet, as she inclined them towards Emily's.

"No," she breathed involuntarily, looking up into Paige's eyes.

Paige's expression altered at the sound of her declarative refusal. Emily's hand was still on the shaft of the shovel, and Paige placed her hand on it, too. It was a threat, a warning.

 _Don't use this against me_ , it said.

"What is it about her?" Paige asked quietly, curling her fingers tightly around the wood.

Emily clutched it harder, too, the strained tension passing between them through the shovel. Emily watched the darkness compounding in the black pools of Paige's eyes.

"Why can't you let it go?"

Emily's anger spiked. Once again, Paige was talking about something she knew nothing about. Everyone always said that to Emily.

 _Let it go._

 _Why do you care?_

 _Get over it._

Emily jerked the shovel suddenly, but Paige was quicker. She spun it, clipping Emily in the forehead with the hard, metal edge. Emily stumbled from the impact, and Paige used the wooden shaft to shove her backwards into the wall. Emily fell to the floor, her ribs blooming in blinding pain.

"It's pathetic," Paige hissed, still standing only a few feet away. "She tortured you for years, and you're still on her side."

Emily felt dazed, blinking fast, touching her face, pulling back to find blood. She could feel it running hotly down her cheek.

"It's disappointing, Emily. All you had to do was say yes," she said, her lips thinly pressed. "Just say yes."

"No," Emily croaked, struggling to rise to her feet.

Paige moved quickly again, aiming a kick to Emily's stomach. Emily was able to throw out an arm, blocking it, but she could feel it reverberate all the way into her shoulder. Undeterred, Paige kicked out a second time, this time successfully connecting with Emily's ribs. On her bad side.

Despite trying not to, Emily groaned loudly in pain.

"You want to know why I did the sex tape?" Paige tormented, pushing Emily hard with the heel of her boot.

"I just had a feeling you'd be a traitor in the end, another fucking hypocrite. And I was right, wasn't I?"

Emily dragged herself away from Paige, towards the wall.

"I wanted the whole world to see you for what you really are," Paige sneered, looming above her. "Weak. Stupid. Alison's DiLaurentis' play thing. Alison DiLaurentis' bitch."

Emily felt a blush of rage color her cheeks. She dug deep into the soil and hurled a fist full into Paige's face. When Paige lifted an arm to shield her eyes, Emily lunged forward, grabbing the hilt of the shovel. Paige held on, so Emily kneed her in the stomach twice for good measure. When Paige stumbled backwards, Emily wrestled the shovel free from her grasp. Paige's hand moved to her back as Emily advanced on her, and then, a glimmer of light caught her eye. It was the kerosene flame glittering off a brandished blade. A buck knife.

Paige flipped it easily in her hand, a well-practiced move. There was a noise from the grave below them, unintelligible words, Alison struggling against her gag.

"Don't worry, Alison," Paige mocked with a sideways glance. "You're next."

Emily's rage swelled. Alison was never Paige's to kill.

She lunged forward, swinging the shovel in a half arc. It slammed into Paige's upper arm and shoulder, the force of it knocking her off her feet. She flew sidelong into the wooden table, arm flinging out against the gas lamp. Glass shattered and liquid sprayed. There was a loud whoosh. A half second later, the ground was covered in burning gas, scorching fire.

Emily staggered, the light was blinding. Her eyes tried to adjust to the blazing flames, but it was disorienting. Shadows danced in every direction. She held the shovel high, searching for Paige, but she didn't see her until she was barreling through the fire, knife edge bared.

She fell into Emily, her arm working under Emily's, the knife plunging into Emily's side, deep and to the hilt. Emily cried out, dropping the shovel as Paige crushed her backwards, her back hitting solid ground. She tried not to scream as the knife wrenched upwards. She wanted it to stop. She wanted it _out_ of her.

"I had dreams for us," Paige spat as they struggled. Emily pressed her hands against Paige's face, trying to push her off, peel into her eyes.

Paige ignored her, yanking the knife free. Emily yelped again, a helpless dying creature sound, while Paige held her down with her free hand.

"No one ever appreciates my loyalty. Not you," she said, touching the blade to Emily neck, her cheek. Emily could feel the cuts there, burning hot. "Not Alison."

She pointed the knife towards the grave. Emily could see blood on her hands, her face, her clothes.

"You two really deserve each other."

She lifted the knife up, angled towards Emily's heart, but Emily's eyes fell to something shocking, something unexpected in the dark. A figure with matted blonde hair, savage blue eyes. CeCe was behind Paige, the shovel already mid swing.

There was a nauseating crunch, a slumped thud. Paige's weight, holding Emily down, fell to the side. Emily breathed out, every movement agonizing. She slid her hand over her side, curling into a fetal ball. It felt wet, warm. She tried to hold her insides together.

"Finally," CeCe said exasperated. "Something to shut that bitch up."

Emily was in too much pain to reply. Instead, her eyes focused and unfocused as she watched CeCe retrieve the knife from Paige's limp hand. Emily couldn't see Paige's face, she couldn't see the damage, but Paige wasn't moving. The flames from the lamp were dimmer now, too, it was getting deathly dark. Emily turned her head to watch CeCe lug Alison out of the grave, freeing her hands with a few precise knife cuts.

After rubbing her wrists, Alison took two quick strides, picking up the shovel. Emily's vision swam before her as the blonde passed her. Alison raised the shovel, once, twice. Emily closed her eyes at the sickening sounds.

"Kill her, too, Ali," CeCe said.

Emily didn't struggle, too weak to get up from the floor, too weak to defend herself. She watched Ali, though. Blood had splattered across her perfect features, her disheveled hair obscured her scar. She glanced towards Emily.

"You heard Paige," CeCe encouraged. "Emily's the copycat. Get rid of her."

But Alison didn't lift the shovel again. She held Emily's gaze, just like she had in the grave. Then, she dropped the shovel with a hollow thud and bent down on her knees next to Emily. She reached forward, cradling Emily's head in her lap, pushing wet hair out of her face.

Emily couldn't see CeCe, but she heard her make a flabbergasted noise.

"You're bleeding a lot," Ali commented, touching her cheek.

"You were right, Ali," Emily said with difficulty. "I didn't have it in me."

"That's okay," she replied in a soft whisper. "It's you and me, honey. It always was."

Emily's eyes closed, the darkness expanding in the room, taking hold of her. She thought she might've felt Ali's lips on hers. She thought she might've heard CeCe cursing, demanding an explanation. But she couldn't stay conscious, she heard nothing else.

 **Will Emily survive? Will they get away with it?  
**


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N:** Hi all – several of you asked for clarification around why Emily abducted Ali from the hospital if she'd been planning to kill her. I'd had a longer explanation in the last chapter, but I deleted much of it, so let me try again here. Firstly, Emily underestimated the impact Alison has on her in person, that's one of the biggest reasons. She's been threatening her from afar for several months but hasn't actually been face to face with her. Alison has a lot of power over her, as a former love, as a former tormenter, someone that's been part of her life for nearly ten years, so I think that's likely the biggest factor. Secondarily, Emily knows she's close to being caught by the police, and Alison offers to "clear her name." This is a tempting offer, even if Emily knows it's a pipe dream. Thirdly, Emily's a little off the rails at this point. She's not thinking rationally and is reacting very impulsively. The short of it, she wanted this person to die, but being with her, she was conflicted and essentially buying time. It's a very similar dynamic to the show "Killing Eve", which I just watched and is AMAZING. Everyone watch.

Hopefully, that helps!

* * *

A week later, Emily was released both from the hospital and on bail. Spencer informed her that the latter had been paid by Ali's attorney in order to schedule interviews as soon as possible. Apparently, in his terms, that meant _"when those atrocious bandages can't be seen through a dress."_

Emily had rolled her eyes at those words, something that happened so frequently in her lawyer's presence, she feared they might get stuck that way, but she was grateful to be free from the hospital either way.

Spencer offered up her family's rebuilt guest house for Emily to stay in, which was also a relief. It had been an old barn that Spencer had painstakingly refurbished only to have Alison burn it down their junior year in high school. But standing in it now with no bags, no purse, no anything, it looked strangely familiar to Emily. The paint schemes were still greys and browns and whites. It even smelled the same with underlying sandalwood and cedar notes.

It was nice to be alone after so many days at the hospital, woken at all hours, watched constantly. It was quiet without the hum of medical equipment. There were no other voices, only the wind in the woods outside, the sound of an errant bird in the treetops.

She'd never slept harder than that first night.

But as the days passed, the quiet seemed less welcome and more smothering. Spencer had returned to Princeton, stressed by the onslaught of several upcoming exams, and without her, Emily didn't have anyone to talk to. Not that she could if she'd wanted. She'd been specifically instructed not to speak to anyone before her court dates and interviews. It could mess up her case.

Not that she even had a phone.

But what bothered her more was that she still hadn't seen Alison. Not in the flesh and barely on TV. The guest house had cable, so she'd seen her photo, she'd seen news snippets of her release on bail. It had made Emily strangely excited. If Ali was free, she could see her. She wanted to feel the electric current of being with Ali in person, she wanted to drink in those blue eyes unfiltered by a screen or newspaper.

It was foreign, feeling that way about her. Alison's photo had once inspired dread and sleepless nights. Her eyes had felt haunting and omniscient, but now there was something comforting about them. Did Emily miss her? If she saw Ali, would the loneliness she'd felt deep in her core, in her bone marrow, would it finally ebb?

It was confusing.

She tried not to think about it too much. She tried to focus on her freedom, on her case. She could control those things, and seeing Ali, that was something she could never control. The blonde showed up when she wanted, both in real life and in her dreams. And lately, the latter had been often. When Emily dreamt of her, Alison watched her. She was always there, as natural as the four walls around Emily.

So, on a cool night when Emily felt an unusual weight on her legs, hair tickling her neck, she wasn't sure what was real and what wasn't.

"Ali?" she called out, her hands shifting, moving from under the sheets.

When she didn't get a response, Emily opened her eyes. She found Alison sitting astride her legs, knees on both sides of her waist, hands on both sides of her head. Her hair was down, curled in golden ringlets as it fell over Emily's chest and neck. She was watching Emily with a slight curl of her pink lips, with a soft endearment in those icy blue eyes. She looked illusory, like a mirage that might disappear at any moment. That is, until Emily saw the winding, pink scar, the reminder that Alison DiLaurentis was never what she seemed.

Emily dug her hands instinctively into Ali, the soft part between her ribs and her hips. She wanted to make sure she was real, that she was really there. When she felt the solidness of her, her stomach muscles coiling, Emily sat up quickly.

Alison made a sulky noise but moved with her, holding onto Emily's biceps for balance.

"What're you doing here?" Emily gasped, voice rough from sleep.

"You called out to me," Ali replied silkily, readjusting herself in Emily's lap.

"Have you been—" Emily struggled to fully wake up. "Were you watching me?"

Ali ignored her, looking around, her hands moving up Emily's arms to her shoulders.

"I thought I burned this down," she commented nonchalantly.

"They rebuilt it."

She shrugged, looking back, reassessing the girl beneath her.

"Why haven't you come to see me?" she asked with a pouty turn of her mouth.

Emily shook her head, reaching with one hand to rub the sleep away from her eye.

"Ali," she breathed, slightly exasperated. "I don't even know where you've been."

"Well, you weren't trying very hard to find me."

"Our _lawyer_ told me not to leave Spencer's house," Emily defended. "He said I shouldn't to talk to anyone, especially you."

"When did you ever let laws or lawyers stop you from talking to me?" Ali asked as she flirtatiously played with the collar of Emily's sleep shirt.

Emily cheeks burned, Alison's touch and proximity suddenly feeling very acute.

"Are you excited about the interview?" she asked conversationally, holding Emily's gaze, her head inclining close enough for Emily to smell her subtle vanilla scent.

"No," Emily replied, not trusting her voice, certain it would betray her.

"Oh come on, Em," Ali said sleekly, moving her hips slightly, unbearably on top of Emily. "That hurts after everything we've been through together."

"You were going to frame me for murder, Alison," Emily said evenly, trying but not succeeding in numbing everything in her lower half. "Again."

"I wouldn't call it 'framing," Ali said with a shake of her curls.

Emily narrowed her eyes.

"Playing?" Ali suggested. "Chasing?"

Emily didn't know what to call it either. Hide and seek? Seek and destroy?

"Can I see it?" Alison requested, her voice quieter, like she was soliciting a secret.

Emily was going to say no, just to annoy Alison, but the blonde's hands were already sneaking under her sleep shirt, lifting it up. Her blue eyes lanced downwards, her brow lifted. Emily took a hitched breath when Alison's fingers lightly grazed her abs, touching the still inflamed cut, red and prickly.

"That's not so bad."

"I don't have a spleen," Emily informed her irritably.

Ali cocked her head and dropped the shirt. She situated her hands back over Emily's shoulders, twirling a piece of her black hair as she looked at her, playful.

"Well, you don't need a spleen."

"I wanted my spleen."

"I can find it for you?" she suggested with her side smile. "I could get you another one?"

"Ew, Ali," Emily replied, closing her eyes, trying not to think of her spleen swimming in a jar somewhere. Or of the ways in which Alison would procure her a new one.

When she opened them again, Ali's smile hadn't wavered. Her hands wandered to the nape of Emily's neck, massaging, pushing softly into the muscle. Emily pointedly refused to make any sort of sound of pleasure, but she couldn't tell her to stop either.

"I've missed you," Ali said, leaning in, her lips grazing the skin behind Emily's ear.

Emily tensed her hands, clutching Ali's sides, rocking them slightly. She cursed internally because, just like that, she was getting turned on.

Sensing it, Ali moved her hands under Emily's arms and scratched over her back with her nails. When she reached the bottom, she skimmed underneath to touch Emily's skin unobstructed.

"Mmm," she said as she moved her palm up Emily's back, all five fingers splayed. "I love that you don't wear a bra at night."

Ali craned her neck forwards, lips nearly touching lips, when Emily finally found the strength to resist.

"You're making me lie," Emily said. "You're making me say you weren't A."

"Sorry?" Ali replied noncommittally.

Emily frowned. She held Alison's arms still, but the blonde's fingers still played with the string of Emily's pajama shorts. She struggled to ignore the distraction.

"What's going to happen in the interview?" she asked, stalling. "What are we going to tell them?"

"Can't we just tell them the truth?" Ali said seductively, angling her head forward again, her breath warm on Emily's mouth.

Emily glanced downward, running her eyes over the slant of Ali's bow shaped lips, wondering how many lies those lips had told.

"That you tortured me for years?" she suggested, mingling their breaths. "That I killed your followers, found some lunatic to help me, and threatened to kill you?"

"No, honey," Ali said with a patient smile, her eyes flicking back up to Emily's. "That we're in love."

Emily's breath caught. She met Alison's gaze, still and unmoving.

"Are we in love, Alison?"

Alison watched her for a long moment. Then, she leaned back in Emily's lap and laughed. The sound rang out mellifluous and resonant.

"Oh my god, your face," she teased.

"Shut up," Emily growled, trying to push Alison off of her.

Alison was having none of it, though, resisting as she wrangled her arms free from Emily's grasp. Then, she swayed forward and caught Emily's lips between her teeth. Emily made a strangled sound of protest, but otherwise let Alison press her shoulders backwards, pushing her against the bed.

Her mouth opened, and Alison's tongue swept inside. She moved the sheet from between them and repositioned herself between Emily's legs, and Emily breathed what felt like a sigh of relief.

 _Finally_ , she thought. She could relax.

Then, Alison spoke, hot and heavy against her lips.

"But we could be," she said.

Then, she kissed Emily again.

 **Final epilogue chapter next.  
**


	20. Epilogue

**A/N:** Hi all! I know it's been a big break between updates, but I didn't forget about any of you. I'm so sorry about the wait, I just really enjoyed writing my other story, and it's been difficult to juggle both as they are so different. However! I'm glad this is finally done. I'm so happy all of you went on this journey with me, and I really hope you enjoyed the story. Not sure if I'll keep writing for Emison, but please feel free to reach out to me if you have any questions.

* * *

 **3 weeks later.**

Emily sat on a hard yet stylish sofa near the edge of the stage, fidgeting uncomfortably. She'd been at the studio since dawn, eager to tape the interview, but there had been a number of delays. Hours of delays, in fact, and she wondered what in the hell could be causing the hold up.

"It'll probably be another 30 minutes, girls," a line producer informed them, looking harried and disheveled. "A circuit blew, and they're still trying to get power to the lights."

"Thank you," Alison replied chirpily, looking up from her makeup compact. "It's really no problem."

But Emily grumbled. It was a problem. She was beyond irritated, a frown impressed so deeply and permanently into her mouth that Ali smiled and pinched her cheek from where she sat next to her.

"You're so cute when you're mad," she said impishly, and Emily glared at her.

After all, she'd asked Ali to keep the public displays of affection to a minimum, a rule that Ali had actively flouted the moment they'd walked through the door. Ali had linked their arms, caressed the small of Emily's back, 'fixed' her hair at least a dozen times, and pressed into her at nearly any given opportunity. She'd even reached to hold her hand, right in front of both co-anchors and half the crew, and it was all Emily could do not to swat it away.

She knew Ali was only doing it to annoy her, but still. It was working. She wasn't even sure why, it wasn't like they didn't do that and more in the privacy of the guest house. Alison snuck in almost every other night. Sometimes they'd have sex, sometimes they'd watch stupid movies, and sometimes they'd just sleep. But there was something about it being public that felt like the old tricks, the old power plays of Alison as A. She wanted everyone to know exactly what she wielded over Emily.

 _Did you get a goodnight kiss? Here's one from me. xo... -A_

Emily could still remember.

But, to be honest, she'd also expected Alison to be this shade of insufferable. So, she'd taken a counter measure, concocted a plan to shake up Ali's picture perfect façade. And the first part of the plan involved getting her alone.

So, that's what she did. She sourly removed herself from Ali's overt dalliances and found an unused dressing room in which she could stew while she waited for Ali to follow.

She entered with a slam of the door and sat down in a stiff swivel chair. She earned an ear-splitting screech when she attempted to spin left or right and gave up, resignedly staring at herself in the mirror, stony and unmoving.

Her eyes flitted over her features. She looked nearly unrecognizable under all the carefully applied makeup, the meticulously crafted clothing. Her red dress hugged her ribs and flared at her waist. It had an attractive slimming effect that she didn't hate, but she just hadn't worn anything like it in years. It felt alien and, reflected back at her, the effect of her image seemed helplessly insincere. It jibed with the day as a whole, all coiffed hair and blinding white lights. All prepared lines and pretend stories. Even the game she was playing with Alison, it involved hiding her true nature. Sometimes, it all felt so fake.

She sighed loudly, looking up at the ceiling.

Alison had dealt with everything better, of course. When she wasn't inappropriately flirting with Emily, she was flitting around the stage, talking to everyone from the anchors to the interns. Emily had even seen her corner a weather correspondent, speaking with believable authenticity regarding atmospheric pressures changes or something or other.

It was enough to make Emily roll her eyes, although she could still admit she was a little jealous. Alison hid so well in plain sight. Unlike Emily who, even in her candy apple red dress and her peach kissed blush, was all smoky shadows and hard angles. No matter how she tried to dress it up, she was still the murderer, the off balanced liar, the shy girl from Rosewood, Pennsylvania. But Alison… it reminded her of middle school, the memory a chafe.

She remembered how throngs of people would converge on Ali like celestial bodies to a massive star. Never mind that at the center of all that light bore an enormous pressure, an unstable core. Never mind that she would eventually collapse in on herself and become a black hole. The adoring crowds, they only saw her shine, moths fluttering around a flame pretending that fire didn't burn.

But at least Emily knew the truth. At least, they shared it. Today, she'd be next to Alison again, a shadow made up of the far flung blackness of outer space, existing on the fringe of her brilliance. She could only hope that Ali's light was bright enough to distract from the darkness in both of them.

She sighed again. There were so many lies to sell, so many viewers to convince. Thousands, millions. How were they ever going to pull this off?

"Fifteen minutes," an unrecognizable voice informed her through the door.

Emily swallowed, sitting up straight. She felt a twinge of movement under in her clothes, hard silicone shifting. The quick movement had disturbed her… well, the insurance she'd prepared to throw Ali off her game. She tried to discreetly adjust it, wondering if Ali was ever going to follow her in here, if all this had been a waste of time… but then the door swung open, and Emily glimpsed a bounce of golden curls, a flash of cunning electric blue.

"Why are you hiding in here?" Alison lilted with a smirk, closing the door. She moved nearer to Emily, checking herself in the mirror for what had to be the hundredth time that day.

"Aren't you tired of looking at yourself?"

"Not really," Ali answered, lifting her hair here and there. "Maybe when you pull out a few of your own teeth, gain fifty pounds, and suffer burns all over your body, you'll appreciate when you're looking good, too, Em."

Emily rested her cheek on her fist, elbow bent on the arm chair.

"I can't believe you're so excited. I don't want to do this at all."

"Don't worry," Ali responded, turning to Emily and running a hand along the back of her swivel chair. Emily could smell her then, soft and vanilla. "I'll make it easy for you."

Emily thought of the flirtatious touches, the parade of their relationship, Ali's wild possessiveness. Ali never made anything easy. However, at least this time, Emily wouldn't be making things easy for her.

"Somehow I doubt that," she replied with impressive impassivity.

"Are you calling me a liar?" Ali simpered, leaning close, the front of her thighs brushing Emily's legs.

Emily couldn't help the spike of heat in her veins as her eyes travelled Ali's figure. She was dressed in a baby blue. Next to each other they looked so very primary colored, but blue had always brought out an otherworldly quality to Alison's eyes, and Emily couldn't look away.

Ali turned, sensing the directional change of Emily's thoughts, and promptly sat down in her lap. Ali faced the mirror but situated herself at a slight angle to avoid the arms of the chair, throwing an arm around Emily's shoulders. Emily, for her part, wrapped her hands around Ali's waist and under her knees to keep her steady.

"I thought by this point," Ali began, shifting her weight across Emily's lap to get comfortable. "I'd have earned a measure of…" but her attention faltered, her eyebrows pinched. She looked down, searchingly, and Emily watched her face in the mirror, wanting to catalogue every subtle change in Ali's demeanor.

"What is that?" she asked lowly, her body stilling, her teasing pretense dropped. Her blue eyes turned a cloudy shade of navy.

"What is what?" Emily asked, playing coy, tightening her grip around Ali's waist. It brought the blonde closer, her back pressed to Emily's breasts. Emily shifted her knees, too, ensuring that Ali's ass fell right into the cradle of her hips.

Alison bit her lip at the movement. She glanced up at the mirror, holding Emily's gaze darkly.

"You know what."

"So do you."

A thought seemed to occur to Ali as she raked over their two forms, Emily's red dress, the flare of the material that made for perfect concealment.

"I know I said I wanted to see you in a dress and—," she broke off, flexing her fingers against Emily's neck. "But I didn't mean today and not on national television."

"I know what you thought," Emily said, pressing her cheek against Ali's, still holding her gaze in the reflection. "But tell me…"

She dropped her voice to an almost whisper, lips moving against Ali's ear.

"Are you going to be a good girl?"

Normally, this wasn't Emily's forte. Normally, Ali was the one to resort to this particular brand of teasing. But today, Emily needed her to understand the consequences of her actions. If Ali planned to lord her power over Emily so often and so publically, she needed to expect a certain outcome. And she hoped it would be distracting enough in the interview, that Ali would stay on script.

"Emily," she breathed, throwing her head back as Emily's lips travelled the delicate column of her neck.

Emily watched their reflection in the mirror, the bob of Ali's throat, a nearly repressed whimper. She couldn't help but think that despite the twisted and terrible things they'd done, they still looked beautiful together.

"We only have, uh, a few minutes. Why didn't you—mm—show me this hours ago?"

Emily licked behind the shell of Alison's ear and sucked.

"When you could discover it for yourself?" she teased. "Where's the fun?"

"Is this—" Ali murmured. "Is this your idea of payback? It's cruel."

"It's not payback," Emily mouthed against her skin, eyes lighting back to Ali's in the mirror, catching them. "It's an arrangement."

"An arrangement?" Ali asked, although Emily wasn't sure how much she was listening. Her hands were currently preoccupied with ghosting over Emily's as they skimmed up her legs, teased the hem of her dress.

"Don't go off book today."

"Me?" Ali feigned with another smirk, eyes closing while she pressed her backside into the silicone toy hidden under Emily's dress.

Emily snared her hands, pausing all of her movements until Ali's eyes fluttered back open.

"I'm serious," she told her. "Don't flirt with me during the interview. Don't say anything we haven't discussed."

Ali held her gaze, lidded and dark.

"Or what?" she challenged.

Emily stood up from the chair, lifting Alison with her and placing her back on her feet. She stood behind her, trapping her against the vanity counter, both hands covering hers. She dropped her chin to her shoulder and pressed forward, bending the blonde over slightly, letting her feel the hidden, hard length.

Ali's pink mouth fell open.

"Or none of this," Emily said, pulling away with a quick peck to Alison's cheek.

"What?" Ali said in shock, watching Emily retreat a few steps away, readjust her dress and check herself in the mirror.

She merely smiled at Ali's rising rancor, her face the portrait of a spoiled child denied an expected gift.

"No, Emily," Ali growled, pointing at the ground. " _Now._ "

"Aw," Emily began in faux sympathy, "but we don't have enough time. What did you say? Only a few minutes?"

With those words, Alison looked like she might actually kill Emily.

"Emily, I don't give a fuck," she hissed, taking two steps towards her. "If you don't bend me over this—"

But Emily didn't get the chance to hear which article of furniture in the room Ali wanted bending over. A production assistant chose that exact moment to knock on the door and swiftly enter.

"We're ready for you, ladies!"

Emily smiled passively at the woman, and she turned to witness Alison struggling to school her anger, brushing a lock of blonde hair out of her eyes with a little too much zest. Emily couldn't help sense of satisfaction.

* * *

The interview went well. Alison controlled herself, and they both stuck to the answers their lawyer had painstakingly rehearsed with them. He'd repeated constantly that they needed to walk a fine line: they couldn't look like accomplices, but they had to seem romantically linked. Why else would Emily attempt to save Alison's life? Why would Alison let her break her out of a hospital jail?

But it wasn't all nice questions, soft balls easily struck into home runs.

 _"Emily, the video is famous. You'd once said you would never love Alison. Have things changed?"_

Emily had bristled internally, even though she'd expected the question, even though she'd had a pre-prepared answer.

She tried to smile sadly, nonetheless, act demure.

 _"Nearly everyone who has been involved with A, with Nick Maxwell, has been dogged by misunderstanding. People have called me a liar, they've called me a murderer. I was mistakenly blamed for the deaths of those poor young women. It was a tough burden to bear. But I'm happy the guilty parties have finally been caught. I'm happy no one else will suffer at the hands of a disturbed manipulator."_

She'd said this last part with a glance at Alison, a jab, but Alison had only looked back at her with pain and sympathy and squeezed her hand. The audience had coo'd, despite the fact that Emily hadn't answered the question at all. It was by design. Their lawyer had insisted on creating mystery and intrigue. The public wouldn't bite at something that seemed too perfectly laid out. So, it had to be subtle.

 _"And you, Alison, your whole life has been marred by violence. You have the scars to prove it. What was it like down there? In that pit?"_

Alison had affected such a fearful expression, her blue eyes wide as saucers, so very modest. It was impressive, really.

 _"It was a nightmare. This whole thing really, a nightmare. I'd been bound and gagged, put in a… hole—"_ she'd reached to wipe away a tear, a real tear. _"She was going to bury me alive. My only hope was that someone—"_ a meaningful glance at Emily, _"a hero would come to save me."_

She'd played the crowd masterfully, her eyes misting over in just the right places. Only once did the veneer crack. It was during a commercial break, Ali was taking a sip of water, but she'd turned to look at Emily, and it was intense and predatory.

It said, _"you know what you did."_

Afterwards, they glad handed with producers and crew members and took set photos. Following Ali out of the studio, she couldn't believe they were already done. It had felt like time couldn't move any slower and then suddenly it was fast, sped up. Emily had waited all morning, suffered through weeks of anxiety, and the interview had only taken about forty-five minutes. Forty-five minutes of her life, and it was over.

Somehow she felt exhilarated and relieved. Adrenaline jumpy yet relaxed.

She couldn't stop smiling as she stepped into a sleek black limo waiting at the curb. She tried to settle into the luxurious leather seats as Ali gave the driver a hotel name.

"Really, Ali?" Emily asked incredulously. "The Four Seasons?"

They studio was in New York, so of course Alison had booked the most expensive hotel in the city. But rather than reply in her usual snark, Ali merely levelled Emily with a look. A look that was deprived of all patience. A look that had no tolerance for anything else Emily had to say.

In her high, it only just occurred to Emily. They were alone.

Partially, at least.

Following her line of thought, Ali raised the privacy screen with the dainty press of a button and edged across the limo bench seat until she was pressed against Emily's side.

"What was going to happen," Ali spoke, sinewey and raspy, sexy as her voice had always been, "if I didn't sit on your lap?"

Her hand fell across Emily's lap at its mention, bunching the fabric between her fingers. Her face smoothed into the crook of Emily's neck, lips falling against the spot where neck met shoulder.

"Were you just going to wear that all day for no reason?" she whispered. "All dressed up and no place to go?"

Emily could feel her searching with her hand, attempting to seek it out, but she'd taken precautions to ensure it would not be so easily seen or felt. After all, this was about Emily's power over Alison, not Alison's power over her. This was Ali's teasing thrown back at her. She'd felt it when Emily wanted her to, and she'd find it when Emily wanted her to.

"Who said it was for you?" she smirked, a crafted reply intended to inspire Ali's head rearing back, her eyes turning midnight, a gathering storm.

"Kidding, Ali," she soothed, threading fingers through her loose blonde hair. "You were always going to get in my lap."

"Really?" Ali tested, still tense.

"You can't help yourself."

Ali's eyes narrowed slightly, her expression darkening.

"Wow, I must be _so_ predictable, _so_ easy to trick."

Emily's smile faltered. She wasn't sure where she was going with that, not until Alison slid off the bench seat, knees landing on the carpeted floor. She positioned herself between Emily's legs, settling her warm hands over Emily's knee caps. She gave a light push, shoving them apart.

"Alison," Emily said, a question, a warning, a plea to continue.

"Yes?" Ali teased with a tilt of her head. "Is this not what you thought I would do? But you know me so well."

Struck silent, Emily could only watch as Ali ran both hands up her legs. She could only clutch helplessly at the leather as her dress was rucked up, Ali's fingers sneaking under the white compression boxers.

"Such care," Ali murmured, "to surprise me."

Emily's heart beat rushed like a river during a downpour. It felt loud in her ears, in her throat, as she watched, feeling like the tables had decidedly turned. She knew Alison had calculated this reply, a chess move, after she'd learned what Emily was wearing in the dressing room. She should be mad, but the thought of Alison thinking about this before and during the interview did nothing of the sort. It only turned her on more.

She made a weak sound, closed mouthed, as Alison pulled the briefs off and over her red heels. That handled, Alison smoothed back the edges of the dress, revealing the added accessory between them.

"Oh, purple," she said with a bit of girlish glee, and then, "It's so big."

"You can take it," Emily heard herself say.

Alison's eyes blackened. She bent forward and stretched her lips over the tip, using the flat of her tongue as she moved experimentally up and down, maintaining eye contact. Emily groaned loudly, placing a hand in her hair, gripping roughly.

She couldn't exactly feel Ali's ministrations, but she could feel the base of the toy hitting her clit rhythmically. And watching, well… she really hadn't thought this kind of thing would do it for her. But it was. The near public act of it, Alison on her knees, her lip gloss leaving sparkling streaks up the side of the silicone, and the black reflection of the privacy glass mirroring her as she bobbed up and down. How was Emily supposed to resist the fluid response of her body?

She couldn't.

After a moment, it became too tantalizing, and Emily heaved Alison up from the floor with a smacking pop and, by the clutch of both shoulders, pulled her into her lap. Alison touched a finger to the corner of her mouth, and smiled with the whites of her canines. She squeezed Emily's middle with her knees.

"I think you like me in your lap, sweetie."

"Shut up," Emily replied, punctuating it with a hooked hand behind Alison's neck, sealing it with a kiss, open, filthy, and possessive.

She fought Ali for control, Ali who never gave up anything without a fight. Alison kissed back, rough and hard, pouring her sexual frustration right into the back of Emily's throat. It tasted sweet and bitter, like hard liquor. Emily dropped a hand from her back, to her ass, clenching, stroking, until she reached to push, pucker Ali's dress up, exposing the yellow tan of her thighs, a pair of matching blue underwear. They looked damp in the center.

"You were good today," she commented in a heady whisper, pressing their foreheads together. "Are you ready for me?"

Alison's hips paused their unconscious rocking, her fingers pressed into the base of Emily's exposed neck as she looked down, biting her lip once more.

She nodded, and Emily pushed the underwear to the side. Alison accommodated, adjusting herself with a lift her hips, and then crawled a measured descent downward. Tightening her fingers in Emily's hair, she called out,

"Oh my God, Em," and then she started moving.

Emily licked her lips and squirmed as Ali rode her, moving up and down, a hand in her hair, a hand on her shoulder. Emily marveled at the way Alison's body opened up to take her. It made her feel powerful, connected. Her fingers dug into Ali's sides, her hips came up to meet her motions, and what started out slowly became a frantic race to orgasm.

Alison's legs trembled with each plunge, a slickness dripping down and coating Emily's lap. Ali braced a palm against Emily's chest, her fingers tracing her collar there. She was looking at Emily with a depth rarely seen, and it made Emily's chest curl and constrict. It felt more intimate than positions they'd tried before. Or maybe it was a product of their history, the moments they'd shared. Regardless, she knew she was seeing something precious, and it felt strange, warm, and sticky. She never thought she'd have Alison like this, not in any dimension, not in any universe.

"Fuck," Ali let out lowly, breaking eye contact.

The pressure eased, the feeling slackened, and Emily had the wherewithal to press a hand between them and pressed firmly between Alison's legs. Ali pulled her hair, almost painfully, and the sweat slick feeling of their bodies pressed against each other was almost too much _._ Ali's lips reeled forward, captured Emily's in a kiss.

"So good," she murmured through their intermingled breaths.

Emily was faintly aware of the car stopping, of a lack of motion, but she didn't care. She moaned, her hips pressing upward insistently, her fingers tracing through Ali easily. She did not stop kissing her, even when Ali's lips moved to chant,

"Don't stop, don't stop…"

Alison's words deteriorated into nonsense as she tipped over the edge. Emily worked her through it, savoring every image of Alison taking her pleasure. Spent, Alison slumped into Emily's arms, the toy still fully sheathed, and breathed hot exhausted breaths against Emily's neck. Emily touched the soft hairs at the base of her neck.

"Well," Ali began after a long moment, pressing her cheek into Emily's shoulder and glancing to the side. She startled, sitting up suddenly in Emily's lap.

The limo had stopped in front of the entrance to the Four Seasons and a number of people had congregated on the sidewalk, casting curious glances at the car. Fortunately, it didn't seem like they could see through the tinted glass, but that hadn't meant they couldn't hear.

"Oops," Alison giggled, winking at Emily and reaching to crack the privacy screen a hair.

"Could you pull around back?"


End file.
